


Ensign Brenda

by MysticaSmith



Category: Star Trek Voyager
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-10-01 17:37:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20352610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysticaSmith/pseuds/MysticaSmith
Summary: Betazoid ship's counselor Ensign Brenda Ellowit-Lilit is kidnapped by Romulans, and becomes Subcommander Nevala's par'chai, her body slave. This story explores some of the Romulans' arrogance and their complex social structure regarding their keeping of slaves. Nevala is from the Voyager episode where the doctor is sent across the alien relay network. This work isn't finished, so feel free to comment on where you think it should go.





	Ensign Brenda

Personal Log, Ensign Brenda Smith 

I used to take my breaks in the fan room on E deck, where no one would notice or be disturbed by the smelly smoke of Bajoran meditation herbs. Being Betazoid, it didn’t usually connect me with the Prophets, instead it dulled out my telepathy and made me dance and sing corny old love songs. I blew the smoke directly into the return filters, and the machinery noise hid the music and my singing nicely. No one ever came into the fan rooms. They were even less popular than the Jeffries tubes, and so the perfect place for my solitary smoke breaks. I also needed a place to get away from the thoughts and emotions of everyone else on board the ship, and the fan room was my release. I was swaying and singing along when I opened my eyes to see someone standing there. A beautiful Romulan woman, staring and pointing a disruptor at me. She was enjoying my singing. Truthfully, at first I thought I was imagining her, such were my fantasies of someday having an appreciative audience.  
“Put your communicator pin on the floor,” she said. I did so. I had no weapons with me, and was unarmed. She picked up the pin and put it in her pocket. Then she visually cleared the area for additional personnel or weapons. There was none. I was alone.  
“What is your name, rank, and position?” the Romulan woman demanded.  
“I’m Ensign Brenda Elowen-Lilit, the ship’s counselor. In my job, rank is somewhat irrelevant. Who are you?”  
“I am Subcommander Nevala of the Romulan Star Empire. You are my prisoner. What are you doing?”  
“Smoking,” I said, sitting down on a box.  
“Do all Starfleet personnel do this?”  
“What? Smoke in the fan rooms? Only the ones with stinky habits like this.” I stared at the Romulan, who was still aiming her disruptor at me. “Wait, what’s going on? How did you even get here?”  
The Romulan sniffed the air, and looked over her shoulder. “This ship is now under the control of the Romulan Star Empire. You are my prisoner.” She pointed the phaser at the boxes, including the one I was sitting on. She looked around at the pictures taped to the walls, mostly funny pictures of cute cats. “What is in those containers?”  
“Well, you’re in luck,” I said, “That one contains Romulan ale. The others have other stuff in them.”  
“Open them.”  
“You certainly are bossy.”  
The Romulan stepped forward and put her disruptor to my head. “Now open those boxes.”  
The cold metal startled me out of my fog. This was real, not a physical daydream. The ship had been taken over by Romulans. If there was one checking out the fan rooms, the whole ship was under their control, just as the subcommander had stated. I stood up, and opened the crate I had been sitting on. “This box and those two over there are full of Romulan ale. The other three are Rigelian liquors.” I opened the crates and let the Romulan inspect them.  
“Open those little boxes on the floor.”  
“This is my own secret stash,” I said, “A combination of Bajoran sacred herbs.”  
“What do you do with this?”  
“I smoke it, for religious purposes.” Maybe I smoked way too much, I thought. How did I miss a Romulan invasion and takeover of the ship? This stuff dulls out my Betazoid senses more than I thought.  
“For what purpose?”  
“Usually it just relaxes me and makes me feel like singing. Occasionally I talk to the prophets. Once I hit the cosmic roof.”  
Subcommander Nevala looked perplexed. “For what purpose?”  
“Spiritual enlightenment.”  
The Romulan looked curious and confused. Then she said, “You are my prisoner, and this is now my secret stash. You will remain here until I return. Do not attempt to leave this room or make any noise or you will be killed.”  
“So the ship has been taken over? What happened to the rest of the crew?”  
“Killed or taken prisoner. Your only hope of remaining alive is to do as I say.”  
“Very well,” I agreed. Then the Romulan placed a pair of handcuffs on me. “Wait, what are you doing?”  
“You will remain here,” she answered, as she pulled and cuffed me to a stanchion. We were about the same size, but she was far stronger than I was, and had no trouble overcoming my stalling and resistance.  
“Wait,” I objected, “Don’t leave me here like this. What if you don’t come back? Nobody ever comes down here. I don’t want to die of thirst or starvation chained to a post.”  
“I will return shortly.” The Romulan backed away, and with a last look around the room, quickly exited.  
“Computer,” I said, “How many Romulans are on board?”  
“One hundred and thirty,” the computer answered over the music.  
“How many Starfleet personnel are there?”  
“Seventeen.”  
Unfortunately, none of them were telepathic and were all so edgy that they couldn’t relax enough to let me connect with them. The five Vulcans aboard were all locked up in the brig, and isolated from each other. Uh oh, I thought. What do I do now? Maybe just sit down right here and make a logical decision about what to do. Yes. So I did. It’s not like I could have done anything else, I was chained to a stanchion. Gradually the smoke wore off and I could sense the thoughts and emotions of everyone on board. The Romulans were running around, trying to figure out the ship’s systems, elated at their successful takeover and confused by the unfamiliar controls. A heavy atmosphere of paranoia permeated them. They double checked everything, especially each other. Beneath the rampant fear was a pervasive loneliness. Except for Subcommander Nevala, who I was finally able to locate. She was hiding a secret, and silently gloating about it. My stash had a high resale value, if she could find a way to unload it secretly. She was wondering when and where she might get the chance to do so. She was also thinking I might have a high resale value, if I was docile enough to be a slave. Or keep me as her own slave. Behind the controlled exterior, she was nearly giddy with the thought. I’m not down with that, I thought. I’ll sleep with her because she’s pretty but there is no way I want to be anyone’s slave. Soon Subcommander Nevala returned. The wave of fascination, covetousness and greed entered the room before she did.  
“Get up,” the Romulan said, pointing her disruptor at me.  
“Okay,” I agreed, standing up beside the cases of liquor. “You don’t have to point that thing at me. I’m unarmed and not nearly as strong as you are. Besides, you’ve got me chained to a post.”  
“Perhaps,” she said, eyeing me suspiciously. “Do you have weapons stored in here?”  
“No. Leaves and liquids don’t attract the ship’s surveillance sensors. Weapons do. I would have been caught with my stash long ago if I had done that.”  
“Why should I believe you?”  
“Common sense.”  
“Tell me about the ship’s sensors.”  
“The ship’s computer conducts automatic scans of everything on board. Really, you can put the disruptor away. There’s nothing I can do to you.”  
“Tell me about the ship’s sensors.”  
“I’ve told you what it does. Only the senior staff have authorized access to bypass it. Please stop pointing that thing at me and uncuff me.”  
“Why should I trust you?”  
“I already told you why.”  
“What tactical training do you have? Are you proficient in martial arts?”  
“None and no,” I sighed, “I’m more of a party girl than a soldier.” That much was certainly true. Very few Betazoids were interested in such things. It disrupted the peaceful pleasantness of our planet to even think of it, so the people who did were invited to please go somewhere else.  
“Then why are you here?”  
“Curiosity,” I smiled, exuding peacefulness, and saying things I knew she would like. At this point, as a prisoner, I thought it wise to make her happy. “So, why did you join the Imperial Romulan Navy? You’re too pretty to be a soldier.”  
Subcommander Nevala smiled despite herself, and bounced slightly with pleasure, like a small child. I smiled back. They are different from Vulcans, aren’t they, I thought. But at the time I just wanted her to quit being paranoid and put than damn gun down.  
“Physical appearance is irrelevant for soldiers. All that matters is attention to duty.”  
“More’s the pity,” I said. I sensed that Nevala was lying. Physical appearance was important, especially to her. Nevala knew she was pretty, and delighted in someone noticing and telling her so. Apparently it was the compliments that were lacking. This was actually a great opportunity to do some practical research on Romulan psychology. “If I must be a prisoner, let it be of the pretty woman.”  
“You could be lying to me,” Nevala pointed out. “Are you trying to trick me with flattery?”  
“To what end? To be captured by someone else less charming? No, at this point I need you.”  
“Perhaps you are telling the truth,” Nevala blushed a slight green, and then put the disruptor back in its holster. “But humans are not to be trusted.”  
“True, there are some who can’t be trusted, but I am not among them, Subcommander.”  
“How can I be sure of that?”  
“Your paranoia is tiresome,” I said, “Among my people it is considered a mental disorder. Do you trust anyone? What oath can I give you?”  
“What oath is meaningful to someone treacherous enough to readily betray their own people?”  
“I haven’t betrayed anyone! Everyone else on this ship was killed or taken prisoner. I’m all alone with no one to betray. Look, I swear to you on my husband’s grave that I will not harm you in any way.”  
“You had a husband?”  
“Yes. He was a pilot, and killed in a shuttle accident some years ago. He liked to fly fast, even when it wasn’t necessary, and one day it worked against him.”  
“That is not sufficient.” Then she thought for a moment. “In return for me sparing your life, you will swear allegiance to me on your own life.”  
“Very well. In exchange for sparing my life, I will offer you my allegiance.”  
“I will command you, and you will do exactly as I say. Otherwise you will be killed.”  
I paused and sensed conflicting emotions from the Romulan. She knew exactly what she wanted, but was strangely shy about asking for it. But she did undo one of the handcuffs, freeing me from the stanchion. So I touched her hand, and said, “If you want me to prove it to you like that, I will.”  
Nevala pulled her hand back in shock, surprised by the sudden offer. Then she agreed. “Very well, that would suffice.” Then she took her pants off, and sat down on a crate with her legs apart.  
What a weird girl, I thought, and almost laughed. But I didn’t because the Romulan was quite sincere in her offer. Maybe this is what they do, I wondered. It certainly hadn’t been in any of the Starfleet manuals I had read, but I had heard stories about Romulans using sex as a weapon. And Nevala was waiting, a cute smile on her face.  
“I will command you,” Nevala said.  
“I know you think that,” I said, trying to say things she would like, kissing Nevala’s knees, “But you are very young, and have a lot to learn before that’s going to work out the way you want it to. You’re also full of unrealistic expectations and notions. Leave those aside, and allow me to give you the blessing of joining.”  
“What is that?” Subcommander Nevala laughed. She thought clearly the human woman was high on some dirty drug she kept there in the fan room.  
“We honor the life force in all sentient creatures, and love is the expression of the power of creation.”  
Nevala startled at what to her was a weird philosophy, and then scoffed. “You lie.”  
“You are beautiful, and my life is in your hands. That is a classic recipe for devotion.”  
“Is it?” she asked.  
“Yes, it is,” I said, kissing my way up from Nevala’s knees to the cleft between her legs. “Which is why most people just settle for great sex.” She was extremely curious, and I was curious, too. I had never been with a Romulan woman before, although I have helped a Vulcan girlfriend through a couple of pon farrs, so she didn’t end up mated to a regrettable male. But as far as I knew, Romulans didn’t have pon farrs.  
“Yes, do that,” Nevala smiled smugly, wrapping her fingers in my hair. She leaned back, breathing deeply as two fingers started to penetrate her. I felt resistance, and hesitated. Nevala was a virgin. That surprised me, and I wondered how such a pretty girl had never had the occasion to be with a lover. “Do it,” Nevala urged, “Do it.”  
“Am I the one to do it?” I asked. If this was something special or sacred, then to rob this girl of her virginity was wrong.  
“No, do it. I want you to.”  
“Very well. I will. Welcome to the wonders of pleasure, Nevala.” With the first kiss, she was mine. Once I had my hands on her, I could attempt to control her physical and emotional responses. Nor had I told her what I really was. She thought I would be her slave, and was fantasizing about all the things she could do with me, but it was the other way around, and she wasn’t experienced or sophisticated enough to know it. All she knew is that she enjoyed it and wanted to do it again.  
She was moaning with pleasure when Commander Rekar summoned her.  
“Subcommander Nevala, report to the bridge immediately.”  
She startled back to reality, and answered her communication summons. “Yes, Commander.” Then she looked around for her pants. “You will tell no one what just occurred,” she said.  
“Definitely not,” I agreed, as I handed her back her pants. They’d made a great pad under my knees. “Go,” I told her. “Go on, do whatever you need to do. I will be here waiting for you. There’s no need to chain me to the stanchion again, either.” But in a flash of paranoia, she did. Training can counteract emotional manipulation. Then she got dressed quickly, and left.  
She returned after duty. I had several hours alone, but they were unproductive by Starfleet standards. I tried to telepathically connect with my remaining crewmates, but most of them were too agitated to relax enough to listen to my voice. Only one of the Vulcans was meditating, and I was forgiven my rude intrusion into his most private space when I interrupted. He and the other Vulcans were all isolated in the brig, with no opportunities for escape. He said he would attempt to support any logical course of action I might suggest. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any, nothing that wouldn’t get us all killed, anyway. However, Subcommander Nevala had prepared for our next meeting. She brought a bag with her, and was very enthusiastic about showing me the contents. She had stuffed it full of every sort of vibrator imaginable, and some of those were unknown to me. When I asked her where they came from, she proudly informed me that she had programmed a replicator to create every form of Romulan pleasure device she could think of. I broke out in a fit of laughter, and she blushed a bright green. Then she demanded to know why I was laughing.  
“Because this is a lifetime supply of sex toys, that’s why,” I laughed. “You’ve got big plans, don’t you?”  
“Yes,” she informed me. “You will teach me everything you know. You seem quite experienced in the arts of pleasure. Then, we will commence experimentation with the various devices. I also have some reference material I would like to study physically.”  
True, I am experienced in giving pleasure to others and to myself. Everyone on Betazed is. It is only a rare skill everywhere else. “Yes,” I agreed with her, “I am experienced in the arts of pleasure, with men and women. I feel lucky to have the opportunity to be with such a pretty woman.” That much was true. I wouldn’t have had such an easy time melding with her if she had been unattractive.  
She was feeling proud, a sly little smile on her face. It was an expression I would come to know very well. “My people don’t just create torture devices. The same technology can be used to cause pleasure.”  
“Well, that does sound intriguing and delightful,” I said. Since I was a prisoner, I definitely preferred to have the Romulans using pleasure devices on me instead of the memory retrieval methods and interrogations I’d heard about. I also wondered what manuals she’d been reading.  
She had her hands behind her back, and giving me that sly smile again. She was shifting her weight around in a childish, wiggly way, and twinkling with excitement. The effect was really rather cute. What she said next was not. “You will be my par’chai. My body slave. I am very happy.”  
“I’m sure you do think that,” I said. “And I want you to be happy. If you’re happy, I’m happy. But my people have many other words for lover that are less possessive. I will choose one of those.”  
“But you will still belong to me,” she said, truly overjoyed, “And you will pleasure me and sing whenever I command it.” She had big plans for how she would use me in a dozen different ways. Sleeping with Subcommander Nevala was the least worrisome aspect of it. As soon as we returned to Romulus, where all aliens have no status and are viewed as slaves, she was going to show me off like a commendation pin on her uniform or a pair of magic boots. Slaves were wealth, and intelligent, obedient ones were extremely valuable. I had the distinct feeling that someone would kill her to increase their own estate. She was intelligent, but she was still young and naïve. Sadly, the universe would not live up to her expectations.  
So I decided to change the subject. “Pretty lady, did you bring me anything to eat?” I had been secreted away in the fan room for over ten hours, and I’d already eaten the apple and granola bar I’d brought with me for a midmorning snack. She looked surprised, and then sheepish. I also decided to play into her fantasy. In doing so, I hoped to gently train her, and so exert some control. “If you are to be my master, it stands to reason that you are responsible for feeding me.”  
“What do you eat?” she asked. Visions of gagh and kanar danced through her head.  
I couldn’t help but laugh. “I definitely don’t eat anything that moves around the plate on its own. I enjoy a wide variety of fruits and vegetables. I appreciate Vulcan food. I like Romulan food. If you like it, the chances are good that I will like it.”  
She left and five minutes later returned with plomeek soup and a chocolate bar. Apparently she chose to pair asceticism and ecstasy. I let her know that I appreciated her efforts.  
What she said about Romulan pleasure devices is true. Vulcans will meditate for years to create a mental state that the Romulans achieve through technology. At home on Betazed we would use bathing or music and dancing to enhance the sexual experience, which is normally telepathic as well as physical and emotional. But oh, those Romulan devices! I had never felt anything quite like that before. They value the intensity of the experience, be it pleasurable or painful. Betazoids always tend towards the pleasant, and I wanted to do all I could to pacify her and keep her happy. I was after all, on a ship full of Romulans headed toward Romulus at warp nine, and I needed her to protect me from the rest of them.  
I woke up the next morning on the fan room floor feeling sicker than I’d ever felt in my life. She was staring at me. “What is wrong with you?”  
“I don’t know. I feel dizzy and nauseous.” I tried to stand up and felt a powerful wave of unsteadiness and disorientation. So I lay down again on the floor.  
“What are you doing? Get up!”  
The cold floor felt good against my cheek. “I can’t.”  
“You must!” She began giving me orders, but I must have passed out. I woke up in sickbay with the emergency medical hologram standing over me. My uniform was gone, and someone had dressed me in a sleeveless gray gown.  
“Welcome back Ensign Elowen-Lilit,” he said. Subcommander Nevala was standing behind him, supervising everything he did.  
“What happened?” I asked. I felt better.  
“You had a Romulan viral infection,” he said, “And you were turning an impressive shade of green.”  
No wonder she brought me to sickbay! “I’ve never felt so sick and dizzy in my life.”  
“You have no natural immunity to it,” the doctor said. “But now you should be fine. I have given you a round of vaccinations that should prevent any more such occurrences. However, in the future you should be wary of exchanging bodily fluids with aliens and especially…”  
“Computer,” Nevala said, “Deactivate emergency medical hologram.” He vanished.  
“Maybe we should have listened to his health lecture.”  
“I have heard enough of him already.” She was blushing a bright green.  
“He’s just a hologram,” I said. “How long was I unconscious for?”  
“Three days.”  
“What?”  
“Can you walk?”  
“I think so,” I said, getting up off the table. I felt a rush of light headedness, after having been lying down for a long time, and in her special brand of helpfulness, Nevala handcuffed me to her. “Now what are you doing?”  
“Come with me, and do not speak to anyone.”  
I followed her out of sickbay, although it’s not like I had much of a choice. The hallways were full of Romulans. I saw one other Starfleet prisoner, our chief engineer, Lieutenant Commander Lindsey Jayson from Engineering, with the number 12 neatly tattooed on his forehead. He was operating a console, a disruptor pointed at him by Commander Rekar. He briefly looked up at us as we passed by, but said nothing. Nor did I. He was worried and terrified, wondering what was going to happen next. Looting after commandeering a ship was common, as was the taking of slaves, so whoever found something good was inclined to show off their prize. All of the Romulans had taken phasers had prizes, along with a bizarre selection of treasures. Nevala bowed respectfully to the Commander, and he took note of us. I tried to telepathically connect with Jayson, but Rekar and Nevala kept us apart. I was searching his mind for any escape plans he or the others may have, but I was the first crewmate he’d seen after the Romulans had taken Main Engineering. Nor was there any further chances of contact, but I managed to leave him with the impression that I was fine and had Subcommander Nevala distracted. Nevala whisked me away from him as quickly as possible. The other Romulans all deferred to Subcommander Nevala as we passed by, and she enjoyed it immensely. I realized we were taking the long way to our destination so she could be seen, especially by Subcommander Tarvi, who seemed to be something of a frenemy. Tarvi smiled and greeted her, but there was nastiness behind her smile, which turned into a snarl. Jealousy emanated from her, and I immediately felt it was most unwise of Nevala to have decided to show off her new treasure in such a manner, especially since Tarvi didn’t have anything comparable, and Commander Rekar had taken most of the engineering staff as his slaves. But Nevala seemed oblivious to the wave of envy and hatred directed at her, and informed Tarvi that she was needed on the bridge. With a fake smile of nasty-niceness, she turned and left, and we continued on our way. Once we were safely behind closed doors, I told Nevala that.  
“She truly hates you,” I said.  
“How do you know that?”  
“Can’t you tell?” I asked. “Murderers and rodents smile like that. She’d throw you in an airlock if no one was watching.”  
A fleeting look of worry passed over her face, then she said, “I don’t believe you.”  
“Just don’t handcuff me to the wall and go somewhere alone with her,” I sighed.  
She stared at me, and then said, “Sit down.”  
I sat down and watched her take out another set of handcuffs and another device. “What are you doing?”  
“Put your arm up on the table and roll up your sleeve,” she said.  
“Why? What are you going to do?”  
“Do not question me. Do as I tell you.”  
I put my arm on the table as instructed, and felt nervous as she used a series of clamps to keep it in place. Then she took another device and applied it to my arm. It hurt like hell but the clamps kept me from pulling my arm away. “Ow!”  
She stared at me like I was simple and told me to hold still. Then she began to draw on my arm. The number 12 tattooed on the engineer’s forehead made sense now. I was briefly grateful not to have a number on my forehead. However, it took far longer for Subcommander Nevala to write her name on my arm and embellish it with scrollwork. Although I must admit, she did a great job, and it was attractive, with bird’s wings and scrolling designs. When she was finished, she sat back and admired her workmanship.  
“Yes, it looks nice, but why did you just write your name on my arm?”  
“Most prisoners are given numbers, but personal slaves have their master’s names written on them, to defray all arguments about who they belong to.”  
“Is that why our chief engineer had the number 12 tattooed on his forehead?”  
“Yes. He is the twelfth prisoner of Commander Rekar. Nor does he plan on keeping your chief engineer as a personal slave.”  
“What will happen to him?”  
“If he tries to escape or retake the ship he will be killed. Otherwise, because humans are weak and untrustworthy, but in this case highly trained, he will most likely be sold to a mining operation on a remote planet to be their equipment repairman.”  
“Great,” I mumbled. She was still sitting there, admiring her artwork, smiling and bouncing slightly in her seat, very pleased. I was definitely an ornament, something for her pride. “Just so you know, in Starfleet we don’t draw on people without their consent.”  
“You should thank me,” she said. “Now no other Romulan will interfere with you or be subject to the law.”  
“What laws are those? Can you please explain them to me?”  
“Any non-Vulcanoid is an alien, and has no rights under Romulan law, unless there are special circumstances, such as marriage. Aliens are subject to search, seizure, enslavement, or death. If the Vulcans in the brig see the logic of cooperation, they will live. If not, they will be killed. All other races are enslaved in varying capacities. Humans are weak, but can make agreeable companions, but Starfleet training makes them defiant, so most are sold to mining operations or dilithium refineries as repair personnel. They will be owned by the military. You are very fortunate. You belong only to me, and need not follow the orders of any other Romulan. Nor by law can they touch you.”  
Hooray, I thought, just her. But she was probably right. I didn’t like the idea of being grabbed by several Romulan soldiers in the hallway, and some of them were sore that they hadn’t found anything or anyone worth keeping, although most of them seemed to have grabbed phasers and Starfleet communicator pins as souvenirs. “Does this mean I can walk around without being handcuffed to you?”  
“Yes,” she smiled, still admiring her work. Then she packed up her tools and handcuffs and said, “Now come with me.” So I followed her down to the crew’s quarters, which had been taken over by Romulans. She knocked on a door, which was opened by an attractive young Romulan man.  
“Subcommander Nevala,” he bowed respectfully.  
“Navak,” she responded.  
We entered and saw that he had a young Bajoran woman there with him, crewman Verys. We hadn’t spoken very much before, but were on friendly terms the few times I had ever worked with her. She didn’t appear to be injured in any way. “Show him your arm,” Nevala ordered me. So I held up the tattoo and he admired it, showing it to Verys.  
“This is what we do,” he said, almost apologetically, “And Subcommander Nevala does great work.”  
“Does it hurt?” she asked.  
“Yes,” I said truthfully. No one looked particularly impressed with my truthfulness.  
“I’ll hold your hand,” he volunteered.  
“Okay,” she agreed and sat down. He held Verys’ hand to keep her arm still while Nevala went to work.  
She yelped, “That stings!”  
“I am sorry about that,” he said, holding on to her hand and trying to steady her as she involuntarily tried to flinch away, “But when we get to Romulus, the tattoo marks you as married to me, and you will be considered a legal alien, and no one will dare harass you.” He watched her flinch and said, ‘If you hold still it will look better.” She smiled and tried to hold still. They kept looking at each other and flirting. Nevala noticed, and I sensed a weird mix of envy and contempt from her. She wanted what they had, but also held the conflicting Romulan belief that only a lowlife weirdo would want an alien wife. Any number of sex slaves was commendable, but to marry an alien was strange. An attitude stemming from pure Romulan arrogance. Navak looked at me and said, “Congratulations, Subcommander. She has the face of the Sister Goddess of Beauty and Infinite Compassion.”  
Nevala smiled back at him, “I know,” she said. Verys looked at me and laughed. I knew I was pretty, most Betazoids are attractive, but that was an awesome compliment. Fortunately, she had never been the jealous type, and Navak blushed. Then Nevala blushed too.  
“Brenda has the face of an angel,” Verys said. “Everyone on the ship had a secret crush on her and she never notices.” She also knew that I was Betazoid and was covering for me. Verys was always wonderful like that.  
“Thank you,” I told Navak. “Nobody has ever said that before.”  
“It is true,” he said, with Vulcan-like honesty. “Look.” Then he showed me a Romulan padd with the image of a winged goddess etched in stone and painted. Her face looked like mine, although I was missing the bat-like wings, tail, pointed ears and horns. How ironic that their goddess of compassion looked like a demoness from ancient Earth mythology! Now I knew the reason the Romulans were admiring me. With most people it’s looking at my breasts or butt. Overhearing other people’s thoughts is really more of a nuisance than non-telepaths would think it is. It was quite pleasant to have them looking up at my face.  
I wondered if Verys knew what my tattoo meant, but a single look from Nevala was enough to silence my comments. I felt no fear or reluctance from Verys, just the opposite. She and the good looking Romulan guy, Navak, seemed to be very attracted to each other. She was happy to have him, and compared to being a Cardassian comfort woman, she felt like she had won a lottery. Her tattoo was also different from mine, but still beautiful. I wondered if the colors and designs had different meanings. Then I realized they must. He might not be getting a slave, he might really be protecting a wife. I sensed deception in him, but it was the predominant emotional state of Romulans, his feelings towards her were quite positive. Then to my surprise, he got her name tattooed on his arm, in the same design. They invited us to leave as soon as the tattoo was finished. I had questions for Nevala, but I would wait until we were alone to ask them.  
“So is Verys a slave?” I asked her once we were alone.  
“She has the marks of an alien wife.”  
“Is there a difference?”  
“Yes. There are harsher penalties for injuring or killing her.”  
“Is that all?”  
She stopped and stared at me. “What do you want to know?”  
“Everything.”  
“I am not going to tell you everything. What is it that you really want to know?”  
“You were jealous of that crewman, because of the way Verys was looking at him.”  
I could tell I had hit a nerve, and instead of answering my question she slapped me. “Does that answer your question?”  
“Yes, it does,” I said. For a moment, I hated her, and she felt it. I had allowed myself such a negative emotion, and it broke my control over her. Then she grabbed me.  
“You know too much about what everyone else thinks and feels,” she said. Then she figured it out. “You’re a Betazoid.” She squeezed my arm until it hurt.  
“Yes, I’m a Betazoid,” I admitted.  
“You lied to me.”  
“It’s in my personnel file.”  
She slapped me again. “You have been lying and manipulating me this entire time!”  
“No, I have not. Nor did you ever ask me what race I was.” Then I asked, “Why? What does it matter?”  
“Lying again!” She snapped, and shook me hard. “Telepaths are manipulators and deceivers! What have you really been doing? Have you been in contact with Starfleet?”  
“What? No! Listen, it doesn’t work that way. Betazoid senses are personal, used while looking at individual people, not some sort of radar.”  
“Then you have been manipulating me.”  
“Only in that I have tried to please you,” I tried to explain. “But you are complicated and difficult to please. If you weren’t so paranoid it would be easier to make you happy. You don’t trust anyone enough to get close to them.”  
She was difficult to read, and her sudden flashes of anger weren’t easy to predict. She became frustrated and overwhelmed with anger, so she hit me again several times. She didn’t hold back on her strength, either, and it hurt as she knocked me to my knees. “Liar!”  
She was upset enough to hit me again, so I agreed with her. “Okay, yes, I should have told you that I was Betazoid. Can you forgive me?”  
“No!” she screamed, and flew into a paranoid rage.  
“What is the problem?” I asked. “Why are you so upset? I can help you if you’ll let me.”  
She grabbed me and shook me again. “I should kill you.”  
“What? Why?” I asked. She was truly panicking, and I wondered why. There was definitely something she wasn’t telling me, and it was important. But I had to try to remain calm, and not get upset along with her, or she would lose control and kill me. She wouldn’t tell me anything, so I had to pluck it out of her head. The Tal Shiar killed telepaths, and anyone concealing them. So that was it. Yes, we now had a problem. So I apologized again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you and I won’t conceal anything else from you.”  
“How can I trust you?” she accused, still upset and paranoid.  
“What are you worried is going to happen?” I asked gently. “I can’t hurt you, Nevala.”  
“If you are discovered by the Tal Shiar, they will kill you and me with you!”  
“Then you should really quit shouting, now.” I said softly.  
She paused, considering the possibility of someone listening to us. She looked around, becoming extremely paranoid. “Does this ship have listening devices?”  
“No, it doesn’t. Starfleet doesn’t eavesdrop on their people. I’m thinking yours do?”  
“Yes,” she said, and then had an idea, a bad one. “We must build plausible deniability.”  
“How are you going to do that?” I asked.  
The answer turned out to be several tiny surveillance devices implanted into my ears, eyes, and drilled into my teeth. She didn’t listen at all as I told her that solution would make things worse. They were also disconcerting and uncomfortable, doing nothing to make me pleased with her. I needed to be emotionally steady, saying things she would like, and the distraction made me lose my balance. “This is cruel and unnecessary,” I told her.  
“This way I will know what you see and hear,” she informed me. “You will not do anything without my permission.”  
“That wasn’t a problem,” I told her, rubbing my eyes, which were stinging and the buzzing in my ears was starting to drive me crazy.  
“Do not lie to me!”  
“You’re paranoid, and torturing me is not going to help anything.”  
“I can do much worse,” she threatened.  
“I’m sure you could, and I wish you wouldn’t. Listen, I have told you the truth, and think carefully. Have I done anything to harm you?” She eyed me suspiciously.  
“I do not know what you have done!”  
“Nothing, Nevala! I’ve done nothing except go along with your demands! I’ve tried to make you happy and given you pleasure. If you think about it you’ll realize that is true.”  
“Telepaths are treacherous,” she said, “And never to be trusted.”  
“How many do you know?”  
“What?”  
“How many telepaths do you know personally?”  
She paused. The answer was none.  
“You’ll find most Betazoids to be warm and caring, more often distressed by the emotions of others than intentionally affecting them. You were quite happy with me before.”  
“Because you were manipulating me!”  
“I made you happy.” That much was true, and she knew it. There was satisfaction in beating me, but not nearly as much as the wonderful feelings I had given her earlier.  
“I could be arrested for concealing you.”  
“That is a problem. So what do you want to do about it?”  
She didn’t know. She was too fearful and paranoid to think clearly. “I should kill you, or turn you over to Commander Rekar.”  
“What would he do?”  
“First he would interrogate you, and then he would kill you.”  
“Then I suppose you might as well kill me yourself and get it over with.”  
“Do you want to die?”  
“I want the constant buzzing and hissing in my ears to stop, and my eyes to not hurt. That’s what I want.”  
She looked at me incredulously. “Would you rather be dead?”  
“No, but the constant distraction and irritation is driving me crazy, and I would rather be dead than driven insane.”  
“Will you still have sex with me?”  
“What? I can’t have sex with you if I’d dead.”  
She stared at me like I was stupid. “I could put you in stasis, and then I could still enjoy your body with less chance of being discovered.”  
“You have a lot to learn about relationships,” I said. Then I had a horrible feeling. “What were you doing with my body there in sickbay?”  
“You are my slave!”  
“Which is a terrible way for any relationship to start.”  
She stared at me. “Why?”  
I stared back at her. “Because it is unfair. We don’t have slaves anywhere in the Federation.”  
“The Federation is weak.”  
“Perhaps.”  
“There is no question about it,” she informed me. “Humans are weak, and the Federation is weak.” She squeezed my arm, “And you are frail.” She pressed, and discovered how easy it would be to break my bones. I flinched, and she quivered with a sadistic little thrill.  
“Most Betazoids are noncombatants.”  
“Then what use are you?”  
I smiled at her, “I think you’ve already discovered it.”  
“Sex is all you are good at?”  
“From your point of view, I suppose it is.”  
“Then why does Starfleet have them around?”  
I couldn’t help but laugh at that, and she stared at me in horror.  
“Are you the ship’s prostitute?”  
“No! I think you’ve got me confused with an Orion slave girl.”  
“I am confused as to your true purpose aboard this vessel.”  
I didn’t really want to tell her that my place was at Captain Holiday’s side, reading alien intentions, but I told her something to make her feel better. “I’m a therapist. I help people cope with their problems. When they acquire disorders like transporter phobia, for instance. I’m also quite good at repairing replicators and look pretty. Lots of fuel for fantasies but you’re the only person I’ve had sex with since I’ve been in space.” She looked at me skeptically. “And I can sing. I’m also a great dancer.”  
“No wonder the Federation is weak! Part of the crew is purely ornamental.”  
“It’s not that bad,” I said. “I’m a great cook and part of the emergency medical backup team.”  
“So you will continue to have sex with me.”  
“Well, in all fairness, what else are you good for?”  
From my perspective it was certainly true, nothing else she could be doing was good. But that was the wrong question to ask, and she slapped me for it. “Do not insult me.”  
“It was just a joke. An attempt at humor.”  
“I do not find your disrespect humorous.”  
“I figured that out.” She had a strong sense of honor that didn’t mesh well with humor. Especially anything remotely relating to her. I could laugh at myself but never at her.  
She was staring at me, getting another bad idea. She took me to an interrogation area, and I knew what the Romulans had converted the office into as soon as we walked in. The aura of pain and fear was palpable. A variety of restraints and devices were set out. “Sit down in that chair,” she ordered.  
“What are you going to do?”  
“You will do as I say, now sit down!”  
So I sat down, and she attached two small devices to my forehead. The sensation was unpleasant, to say the least. A series of electrical shocks were used in an uncomfortable and inefficient attempt to probe my mind. Mostly it caused a hideous feedback whine in my head, made worse by the surveillance devices implanted in my ears. “Stop it!” I finally screamed.  
To my surprise, she did. “You broke the equipment,” she said.  
“Is that what that horrible noise was?”  
“Apparently the Betazoid brain is not susceptible to our scanning techniques. I could try another.”  
“You’re going to break a bunch of equipment and everyone else will notice,” I said.  
“I will simply dispose of the damaged equipment,” she decided, “And try a different type of device.”  
“Well, here’s something else the Betazoid brain is good for,” I said, and shared that awful feedback whine into her brain, and she didn’t like it. She stared at me in shock and fear. “I’ve been kind to you because I like you, but if you continue to torture me, you’re going to feel it, too.” Then to my surprise, she started to smile, and put her arms around me.  
“Can you do that at any time? To anyone?”  
“I don’t. I prefer to be liked by others. Torturing people will make them not like you,” I felt the need to point that out to her.  
“But you could,” she smiled.  
“Yes, I can. But I must point out to you that psychic attacks are considered a very serious crime on Betazed. It is an evil thing to do, and the people who do it are avoided and shunned. Shunning is our most severe punishment.”  
She looked at me like she had just discovered a precious jewel hidden in her new designer handbag. She embraced me and gloated, “I knew you were good for something!”  
“The Federation charter is very clear on the use of Betazoids for interrogation purposes, and it is forbidden in all but the most dire of circumstances. And our powers are certainly never used as a punishment.”  
She got really turned on by the thought, and started fondling me, “Which does not apply to me,” she whispered. “Oh, I have so many uses for you!” she said, kissing me.  
“Take care of me and I will do everything in my power to help you,” I promised her. “Take out the devices. I will tell you what everyone else is thinking and feeling.”  
“But how can I trust you? You might be lying, or controlling me right now.”  
Romulan paranoia was getting really old. “I’m not like that. As you know, I am Betazoid. It’s in my nature to bond, and form close, loving relationships. Give me the benefit of the doubt, and I will prove my loyalty and affection for you.” She stared at me skeptically. The idea of giving up control was anathema to her. “Please remove those devices. If you don’t, I will go crazy and disrupt everyone, starting with you since we spend all of our time together.”  
“How can that be possible?”  
“Trust me,” I said, and held out my hand. She was hesitant, and warily touched her hand to mine. “Romulans have latent telepathic powers, the same as Vulcans do,” I told her, and linked our minds together, very gently. I didn’t frighten her with words, but transmitted the memory of how good it felt when we had sex. She stared at me in amazement. “I can make it even better, but you’ll have to remove those devices. They’re making me disoriented and distracted, and we don’t need them. We can do it naturally, and I will teach you through pleasure.”  
“Then you would be able to control me. How would I know if you were manipulating me?”  
“Because that would not feel nice,” I told her, “You would probably feel sick, and notice ideas in your mind that are not your own. Nevala, I won’t do that, unless you torture me and I have to defend myself.”  
“If you truly have such power, then I should kill you, to prevent your inevitable betrayal and sabotage.”  
“Or you can have a telepathic girlfriend who loves you. The choice is yours.”  
She was wary, and torn between what she thought she was supposed to do, and what would be a fantastic advantage if she could trust me. “How do you really feel about me?” she asked.  
“I think you’re beautiful, and I will be as loving and faithful as you are kind to me.” I reached up and touched her, “And you have the cutest ears that come to the prettiest little point. I’m developing a thing for you and your cute ears.”  
She smiled and wiggled involuntarily at my touch. She liked it when I touched and complimented her. Then she immediately recovered her composure. “Will you follow my orders?”  
“I’m no use as a killing machine,” I said, and it was the truth. “But I can tell you what everyone else is thinking and feeling, and that advantage can take you as far as you want it to.” That argument swayed her. I was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and she was weighing the risks of taking it.  
She was regarding me with a mixture of thoughts and emotions, all jumbled together without any single one taking precedence. Visions of power and control tempted her, tempered by the reality that if we were caught plucking secrets out of people’s heads the punishment would be severe. Definitely imprisoned, possibly executed. I admit it was not a risk I would have willingly taken, but my choices were few- cooperation or death. She knew that, too, and said, “What promise can you give me that I can trust?”  
“I need you,” I reminded her, and then said, “I promise to help you in any way I can, and to make you very happy.”  
“How do you propose to make me happy?” she asked with a sly smile.  
“With lovemaking and other people’s secrets,” I said.  
She smiled, “Yes, that would make me happy,” she admitted.  
“Yes, I know it does,” I agreed, and put my arms around her. “Take me, I’m yours.”  
“Yes,” she agreed, and returned my embrace, “You are mine.” She meant it, too. But she wouldn’t remove all of those accursed devices. She removed the ones that were affecting my hearing and vision, but left the rest. She didn’t trust me enough to allow me any freedom. She had to know my every move, and she wanted to track me whenever she wasn’t physically present, which was almost never. Her paranoia was not easy to overcome, further hindered by her lack of experience in living without it. Her possessiveness was equally strong, affection stemming from ownership. I wasn’t used to physical intimacy without emotional sharing, and especially not giving of myself without reciprocity. Nor did she want to love me. Love cannot exist without trust, and her paranoia was entrenched. The affection one might feel for a pet, or as I was to her, a useful slave, was all she would allow herself. She wanted to be in control. In that, she underestimated me and herself. Time would draw us together, and over time, she would come to trust me, and eventually, to love me. Harmony would develop. She would not admit it, but the process had already begun. It is, after all, what Betazoids are actually good at. Although she threatened to kill me, she had no intention of carrying out that threat. It was her paranoid reactions, like the implanted surveillance devices and sudden beatings that were a much bigger problem. There was also a high likelihood of further beatings if she lost her temper or got scared. But I opened my heart to her, and made love to her. She noticed the difference, but thought that it was the result of her gaining experience, and us developing a good rhythm together. She wanted experience, and had been embarrassed about her virginity.  
She also wanted to draw on me. Nevala wanted to continue her tattoo artwork using my body as a canvas. If I resisted she would simply wrestle me into a restraint and draw whatever she wanted, snapping at me to be quiet and hold still. She wanted to decorate me in a fashion she found agreeable, and my flinching and jumping messed up her artistry. Mostly it was scrollwork, with a bird’s wings theme. It hurt whenever she drew over nerves or bones, and her concept art didn’t take into account how much discomfort I had to endure to look fabulous. She had decided she wanted to draw wings on my back. There’s a lot of nerves and bones to cover, and despite her orders to be silent, I screamed at her to stop. “Stop, stop, stop!”  
“Be silent and cease that flailing!”  
“You’re stabbing my spine, you sick, sadistic bitch!”  
She slapped me. “You belong to me and it is my desire that you be as attractive as possible. Perhaps I shall have your ears altered,” she said, considering how that would look. She had already cut my hair to suit her tastes, and given me a plain gray dress to wear that had no pockets or any way to conceal weapons, and showed off her name and artistry. She kept my uniform locked up, along with other treasures she was finding on the ship. She had a phaser, a tricorder, a medical tricorder, and all of my stuff- especially my secret stash. Since I belonged to her, she laid claim to everything that was in my quarters.  
“I don’t feel attractive,” I explained, “I feel miserable. How about you only draw over muscle? That doesn’t hurt so much.”  
“That would be nowhere,” she said, “You are scrawny and only good for pleasures. I want to make you as attractive as possible. Yes, I think an elegant curve to your ears would be beautiful. Perhaps even make you look more like Our Sister of Infinite Compassion.”  
And she did. She had one of their surgeons alter my ears to be more Vulcanoid, in a style she considered beautiful. They looked just like hers, and I realized that she had the same surgery herself. There were limits to what a soldier could do to adorn her body, but no limits to what she could do with me. I awoke in the sickbay with fancy new pointed ears pierced with an almost Bajoran style earrings. She was delighted. “Now you match Tee-cho,” she declared happily.  
“What is that?” I asked.  
“My favorite set-leth,” she said. “My sister will be jealous when she sees you. I have what she always wanted,” she smiled.  
“I feel like I’m stuck in the clutches of a sadistic eight-year old,” I said. I saw the ship’s surgeon crack a smile.  
“You promised that you would make me happy,” she reminded me. “It makes me happy to improve your appearance.” Regardless of how much misery she caused.  
I awoke later to her on top of me, kissing me and sighing while grinding against me. My body felt leaden and I knew I had been drugged. It was a few moments before I was able to move, and she was quivering with pleasure, kissing my lips, cheeks, and ears, and making sweet, kittenish noises. She didn’t realize I was awake, and so I gently put my arms around her and whispered, “Make love to me, darling.”  
She freaked out and jumped up. Then she grabbed a hypospray and knocked me back out. When I woke back up again I felt the need to explain something to her. “I liked what you were doing,” I told her, “And you don’t have to knock me out to do that. Knock me out when you feel like drawing on my spine.”  
She was ashamed and angry. I wasn’t quite sure why. “I will decide what we do and when,” she said, all she could think of because she was flustered, and turning a bright green.  
“Why are you upset?” I asked gently. I wanted her to tell me, so we could resolve her backwards problem of wanting to have very intimate, loving sex with my unconscious body while causing me a great deal of pain while I was conscious with her tattoo hobby. “I liked what you were doing. I’d like it more if I were awake to enjoy it.” She turned away, and I realized that it was the intimacy that scared her. She was familiar with ordering slaves and prisoners around, but having a par’chai was a new experience for her, and there was an emotional aspect she hadn’t considered. She didn’t want to love me, she wanted to regard me as her prisoner and property, but it wasn’t working out that way. She denied her feelings in an attempt to make them go away.  
“Do not question me!” Then she turned away, ashamed. She had not wanted to be caught.  
I decided it would be wise to allow her some time and privacy to cope with her own feelings before I approached her with my own. Enmeshment with a Betazoid is an overwhelming experience, and she was still struggling with a desire to keep her emotional distance. I knew it was the wrong time to tell her that wasn’t going to happen. Even if I grew to hate her, we would still be connected, and rejection would sting far more than the embarrassment of being in love.  
The ship was heading toward Romulus, but it would take us several more days to get there. If Starfleet was going to attempt a rescue, they needed to do it soon. I kept my senses open, feeling for it, listening for their approach. Nevala knew I was scanning for them, and she asked me repeatedly about it. But it never came. She did ask me what I would do if we were attacked. Unskilled at tactical, I would do nothing. Then she asked me what I would do if she were taken prisoner.  
“I would save you,” I told her truthfully, “And after giving you my blessing, I would put you on a ship and send you home.”  
She wasn’t sure what to make of my answer. “How would you save me? Are you really an ensign? Or is your true rank much higher?”  
“Sorry, pretty lady. I’m sure you’ve found and read my personnel file, and you found me screwing around in the fan room. Does that seem like something a senior ranking officer would be doing?”  
“No,” she admitted. “That seems like the actions of someone who is going to be removed from duty.”  
“That was always a possibility,” I laughed. Then I reached over and stroked her ear. She giggled, quivering and squeezing me. “But it brought us together.”  
“A strange fate,” she agreed. Her paranoia prevented her from understanding my true feelings, so she continued to doubt and query me. “How can I trust you?”  
That again. “Because I need you. I need you to protect me from the others. Betrayal is against my own self-interest. It’s logical.”  
“You’re Starfleet,” she sighed, “Never trust an alien.”  
“I promised to make you happy,” I reminded her. “That’s all I can do.”  
“You lied about what you were. How do I know you’re not still lying to me?”  
“Did you read my personnel file?”  
“Yes. Then I deleted it.” So no one else could read it.  
“Probably a wise precaution,” I agreed. If the others would kill me upon discovering what race I was, that was a good thing.  
“You are still lying to me, I just do not yet know about exactly what. I should have known not to believe anything you say.”  
“How much do you know about my people?”  
“Only that you are treacherous and manipulative. Dangerous. All telepaths are.”  
“Wrong. You couldn’t be more wrong. Access a Starfleet history book. Learn the truth for yourself.”  
“All access is monitored,” she said, “I do not want to be discovered doing that.”  
“Then we will be old fashioned,” I said. “There was a book in my quarters on Betazed history. Read that. Did you get all of my things from my quarters?”  
“Yes,” she admitted.  
“So read it. Get the facts.”  
She seemed doubtful, but then decided to do it. She had a long list of questions she would ask me as she read. She also got scared. “An entire planet of telepaths?”  
“Telepaths and empaths,” I reminded her. “We all have telepathy and empathic sensations to varying degrees. It’s all about making a pleasant environment. We make other people happy so that we will feel their joy and be happy to.”  
The concept was foreign to her, and the complete absence of paranoia on our planet perplexed her. She struggled to understand it. “How do you keep secrets?” she asked.  
“We have the concept of privacy,” I explained. “It’s considered rude to read someone’s mind without their consent. We also don’t seek information that others keep to themselves out of modesty or necessity. When I go home to visit, no one tries to access secret or confidential information out of my brain. It wouldn’t be nice, and everyone would know they did it.”  
She was still confused, unable to believe what she had just heard. Then she turned the page and received another shock. Looking at a picture of a traditional Betazoid wedding, with everyone standing around naked, stunned her enough to nearly fall out of her chair. “This is the way…” she struggled while staring at the picture. “Your people go about naked?”  
“Sometimes,” I said, putting my arms around her. Poor prudish, repressed Romulan girl! “It’s not a problem, and the climate is most agreeable. But we try not to frighten visitors with our openness.” I sensed that she was fascinated by what she thought were dirty pictures, and yet terrified of being caught with that book. She didn’t put it down, though, she flipped through it, looking for more dirty pictures. I laughed.  
“Do you copulate publicly?” she asked me, somewhat in horror but also looking for a picture of it.  
“No,” I explained, “That’s one of the things that we usually like some privacy for.”  
“Why?”  
“Because it causes a distraction,” I laughed, “And that is a time when people usually like to be alone together.”  
“Why?”  
“To focus exclusively on giving pleasure to each other,” I said, tickling her ear with my nose and slipping my hand down her pants. She wiggled and squirmed with delight, twinkling at the forbidden naughtiness, both at my touch and the thrill of getting away with something. She was looking at dirty alien pictures and having one of those dirty aliens pleasure her at the same time, while still remaining terrified of being caught. “How is it for your people?” I asked. “What can I do to pleasure you?”  
“Not like that,” she said, staring at another wedding photo from a different era. The book was attempting to illustrate how our culture developed, but all she noticed was the nudity. It was however, definitely turning her on, so she removed her uniform trousers to give me greater access. “Remove your clothing,” she said.  
I did so, and she thrilled with forbidden pleasures. “How do you usually do it?”  
She looked furtive and ashamed. “Alone,” she finally said, “Watching.”  
“Watching what?”  
“Someone else.”  
“I don’t understand,” although I suppose that did explain her virginity.  
“We watch others,” she said, “Only a prostitute would be as you are. I don’t want anyone to have power over me.”  
“Watch as in performances or without their knowledge?”  
“Only prostitutes perform, and slaves,” she added.  
“So spying is what your people really get turned on by?”  
She smiled and wiggled around. That was exactly what they got turned on by. Spying on each other and I suppose whoever else they could sneak their gear around to. Spying on Federation vessels was a special thrill for a variety of reasons. As I was to learn, they all do it. The Federation would be very wise to avoid Romulans bearing gifts. What they really want to do is get their surveillance gear aboard so they can all secretly spy and masturbate- paranoid and alone. “It is power,” she said.  
“That’s not what we call it,” I said. “We call it voyeurism.” At best, I thought. It was hard for me to understand why an entire culture of people would prefer hiding, spying, and masturbating to having real, intimate relationships. Except for mated couples, sex with other Romulans was rare, and when it did occur it was to gain an advantage. Mostly they kept slaves for that, if they could afford them. Otherwise, sex was a solitary activity. Hence, I realized, all the variety of pleasure devices. But I was beginning to understand why it was so hard for her to trust me. Nor did she trust the others to not to spy on us, hence her annoying habit of keeping most of her clothes on, or hiding beneath blankets or in total darkness. I felt sorry for her, and her secretive life of terrified repression.  
“I like to watch,” she said, “I really enjoy watching you.”  
“I like looking at you, too,” I said, “Because you’re beautiful. But among my people we only watch or participate with permission.” I was hoping she would understand, but she chose not to.  
Most of the time I spent alone in our quarters, cut off from communication or any access to the computer. When she was off duty, she would return and query me about the ship’s systems, and sometimes take me to help her access something or fix a broken replicator. Very seldom did I see another Starfleet crew member, and when I did, we were forbidden to speak or even look at each other. Nevala supervised me herself, and would not allow any other Romulans to get close. In this, she was fiercely possessive, threatening the others if they lingered or stared too long. Only Commander Rekar outranked her, and so could have taken away her prize, but he chose not to. Instead, he advised her to sell me to a wealthy house when we reached Romulus, or even before.  
“You will receive a good price for her,” he said.  
“Yes, Commander,” she agreed, “But I intend to keep her as my par’chai.”  
“You would be better off to sell her and buy another slave for that purpose. Starfleet captives do not make good household slaves. They cause trouble among the others.”  
“I intend to keep her isolated,” Nevala told him.  
“See that you do. Every slave uprising has a Starfleet officer behind it. Humans especially are not to be trusted. Whatever promises she told you, do not trust her. She will wait for a chance to escape and she will take it, they all do. We will reach Rulic in four days, but you would receive a much better price for an attractive bed slave on Narial. You have time to consider your options.”  
“Thank you, Commander,” she said, and he wandered off, looking for more Federation technology to hack into, or anything else of value.  
I said nothing, and neither did she, until we were alone. “I have something to show you,” she said, and accessed the ship’s computer and consoles. Presently, we were watching Narak and Verys, sitting on the floor in a traditional Bajoran tea ceremony. I recognized the scarf hung on the wall, a call to the Prophets of Bajor, and the little bells. Nevala looked at me with a superior expression and a satisfied sway. She was twinkling with satisfaction as she told me, “I know everything they do.”  
“Is everybody watching this? Do they know?”  
“No, just us. I have been able to circumvent his security system,” she told me proudly.  
“Is this what you do when I’m not around?”  
She took offense, “Are you implying I am inattentive to my duties?”  
“Not at all,” I said, aware that I had transgressed, “I’m sorry if I made it sound that way.”  
My apology satisfied her, and she said, “Do you want to know what they do?”  
“Not really,” I said. “I don’t sense any fear or apprehension from either of them. She feels very lucky to have found him and he’s enjoying the tea, trying to figure out what sort of wormhole aliens the Prophets are. They’re happy so I am happy for them.”  
“You know all that?”  
“Too me, it’s obvious.”  
“If we were to visit them, would you tell her about this?”  
Ah ha, some sort of loyalty test. “No, I would not. To do so would humiliate her, and that’s not something I would do.”  
“Why not? You would feel no pleasure?”  
“Definitely not. Among my people, humiliation is a sign that something is wrong. We try to find out why and help the person feel better.” She looked at me like I was stupid, “And he would kick your ass.”  
“He is my subordinate. He cannot do anything but file a complaint with Commander Rekar.”  
“I want you to tell me your impressions of what these people are doing,” Nevala said. She switched channels and another couple came on the screen. They were two young Romulans walking down a hallway together, and disappeared into her quarters. They briefly vanished and then reappeared on a different camera, passionately embracing. Nevala burst into laughter. “What are they thinking about?”  
“Each other,” I told her. “Are these cameras being installed all over the ship?”  
“Yes, of course,” Nevala said. “As a matter of protocol. To prevent sabotage.”  
“Against whom?”  
“Sabotage and traitors pick their moments,” Nevala said, “Dissidents and Starfleet.”  
Paranoia sounded exhausting, and it was. She had me review a grueling array of surveillance photos of the various Romulans and Vulcan prisoners. She wanted me to search for evidence of a traitorous dissident movement based on Vulcan. Although I could have made a strong argument for one, I found no evidence. If there had ever been a plot, it had already failed. The ship was still firmly under Romulan control, with no indication of an imminent plot of any kind. She switched the channel entirely on the device. We were looking over Commander Rekar’s shoulder. I recognized the background as the captain’s ready room. Somebody, and I think I was looking at her, had installed a secret surveillance camera there. “What is he thinking about?” she asked me.  
“If he ever finds out about this, he won’t like it,” I pointed out.  
“And you will not tell him. Now what is he planning?”  
“He’s talking to people looking to purchase workers.” I was discouraged to learn that he was selling off my crewmates to different mining and farming planets, where they would join others similarly stranded. Nevala sensed my disappointment.  
“Who is going where? Does he know yet?” she asked.  
“He knows for sure where the Vulcans are going,” I said. That much was clear in Commander Rekar’s mind. Most of them would end up mated to ugly Romulans during a pon farr. He couldn’t sell them, but he could give them away as gifts. It was all about how much latinum he could get for the rest. 

A few days later we passed into Romulan space. I felt a powerful sense of foreboding as we did so. My fate was sealed. I was going to Romulus, where all these paranoid, sadistic voyeurs come from, as Subcommander Nevala’s slave, to a place where I would be killed if my true nature were revealed. I also knew of her alternate plan in that event- to plead ignorance and claim that she was used by me, an evil telepath who coerced her into an intimate relationship. She even planned to blame her spying on Navak and Verys on me. I was a little offended, but also chagrined, because it was far closer to the truth than I would have liked to admit to myself. I did make her happy, and kept a constant awareness of her emotional state. It would not have been wise to allow her to become dissatisfied, and at some subconscious level, she knew it, and so we became even more enmeshed. We were firmly cross threaded together by the time we reached a small planet en route to Romulus. I got a bad feeling from it, and did not like the look of it at all. She was gloating inwardly as she proudly informed me that this stopover would be educational, and handcuffed me to her, taking care to ensure that the tattoo with her name on it was clearly visible.  
“What are we doing, Nevala?”  
“This is something you should see,” she said, “And you will appreciate what I have done for you.”  
That much was certainly true. The dismal little planet was a Romulan sorting station where they dumped off Federation prisoners for sorting and reassignment in various labor camps. My soul died a little as I saw my remaining crewmates marched away toward a grim fate, working in mines or destined for remote agricultural destinations where they would likely spend the rest of their lives, with no hope of escape or rescue. Presumably Commander Rekar got a good price for them. Subcommander Nevala was gloating, smiling and twinkling with pleasure, hoping that I would drop to my knees in gratitude for her having saved me from a similar fate. Yet, I also realized how much more precarious my own position was. I was headed for Romulus itself, handcuffed not to a fellow Starfleet officer but to Subcommander Nevala, who was expecting my obedience and devotion under pain of death. A fate I felt might not be long delayed, for either of us. We were definitely being watched. Although we had made it through the Tal Shiar checkpoint easily, showing them the tattoo and answering a few obvious questions about where she found me and what she intended to do, our movements were being tracked. As far as the Romulan Star Empire was concerned, I now belonged to Subcommander Nevala, properly registered as her par’chai, her body slave, hers and hers alone. On one hand, I felt some relief knowing that none of the other Romulans could do anything to me without her permission, and on the other hand, I was trapped; hers, to do with as she saw fit. She could kill me if she chose to do so. I was not overjoyed to be a slave, or at the thought of spending the rest of my life with a paranoid sadist, only relieved to not be sentenced to a lifetime of toil in a mine. One of the leading Tal Shiar officers had caught my eye, a very beautiful woman, truly stunning, and as we looked at each other, I knew she was telepathic. She gave no indication of her power, other than the slight friction of our coming within range of each other and a silent acknowledgment that she had noticed my appreciation of her appearance. Nor did she say anything, but I had the distinct feeling that now I was on her personal radar.  
“What are you thinking?” Nevala asked me curiously. She had noticed the ranking officer staring at me, and her paranoia was reasserting itself.  
“That I am indeed fortunate to have you,” I said. That satisfied her, but she felt the unease.  
“And what else?” she asked. She felt that something unknown was going on, and it scared her. She wanted to be in control, and didn’t like the possibility of something going wrong. I didn’t much care for that possibility either, and tried to reassure her with my calmness and presence. She felt the emotional support and recovered her composure. It did not do to attract that kind of attention. More captives of other races were being brought into the sorting area, and I realized that slave trading was a major industry within the Romulan Empire. My shipmates gone, there was little else of interest and we were ready to leave but for the machinations of Subcommander Tarvi, who told Commander Rekar that we hadn’t gone through the Tal Shiar checkpoint yet and that’s why the two of us were attracting attention. So he sent us back through the line. Tarvi was twinkling with pleasure as she saw Nevala’s obvious look of displeasure and chagrin. Several more ships had arrived and now the lines were substantial. We had to stand there for hours in a line of what Nevala felt were smelly monsters, only to have the checking agent become annoyed at us for having come back and order us to go away. Nevala was annoyed at having been manipulated and knew exactly who was to blame. I found myself feeling sorry for the fellow captives and wondering who they were. Some races I recognized, many I didn’t. Nevala was even more disgruntled as we reported back to Commander Rekar, who was laughing at a bunch of Pakleds, all chained together and unable to maneuver. They kept bumping into each other and falling over. Tarvi was laughing, ostensibly at the Pakleds but really at Nevala for having to stand in a line of stinking slaves handcuffed to a living sex toy. We both just wanted to leave but Commander Rekar insisted we stay and watch the Pakleds auctioned off. They bumbled and stumbled around in a pathetic fashion while the Romulans all laughed at them. Even the other groups of slaves were laughing. Commander Rekar then conceived the idea that if he could pick them up for cheap enough, he might take them back Romulus.  
“What for, Commander?” Tarvi asked.  
“I’ll chain them all together for a comedy break in the Colliseum,” he grinned.  
“They’ll stumble and fall as they attempt to defend themselves,” Tarvi laughed.  
“I’ll make a fortune letting people chase them around with whips,” he laughed. Tarvi laughed along with him, and Nevala stopped feeling sorry for herself long enough to laugh at the Pakleds. He ended up not buying them, because someone else had stolen his idea and decided to do the same thing, and was willing to pay more to do it. Commander Rekar responded by sulking and ordering us back to the ship.  
Nevala noticed I wasn’t laughing. “What are you thinking?”  
“I feel the misery of these people,” I told her, which was certainly true.  
“Are you grateful that you do not share their fate?”  
“Yes,” I said. “I hadn’t realized things like that could happen. I wasn’t surprised to see our crewmen sent to work in a mine, but I could not have imagined the fate of those Pakleds.” She looked at me. They whipped more than fat Pakleds for laughs. I knew what she wanted. “Thank you,” I said, “For saving me, and I apologize for your embarrassment.” She nodded. I had acknowledged that her dishonor was because of me, and I had washed her clean of it.  
“Accepted,” she said. That was the end of her being angry at my involvement in her dishonor. Her real target was Subcommander Tarvi.  
As soon as we were alone she asked, “What was she thinking when she did it?” Nevala asked.  
“Tarvi? To get us sent back through the line? Oh yes, she did it because she doesn’t like you and thought it was funny.”  
“So that she could get Commander Rekar to laugh at me,” Nevala seethed.  
“That part may have been coincidence,” I said, “But she definitely lied to him on purpose, to make us have to stand in that awful line twice.”  
“I want to punish her,” Nevala said.  
“How?”  
“I want to telepathically assassinate Subcommander Tarvi,” she whispered, even though we were alone in our quarters. “You will help me do this.”  
“How about you file a complaint with Commander Rekar? Or failing that, his supervisor?”  
“No, I want you to use your telepathic powers and kill her.”  
“Dearest Nevala, it doesn’t work that way.”  
“Yes it does. I’ve been reading the book you gave me. I read about the telepathic attacks.”  
“Oh, no, we don’t do that anymore. Even if we did it takes years of practice…”  
“We already have a connection between us. One solid enough for you to make me feel and hear what was in your head. You can do the reverse. You will establish a link with me.”  
“Oh, no, I don’t…”  
She pushed me against the wall and said, “Yes, you will. I am ordering you.” She stared at me until I agreed.  
“Then get me good and drunk,” I said.  
“Very well,” she agreed with a smile, and began to ply me with alcohol.  
I got happily drunk, hoping to distract her with sex and hope the whole thing would blow over. It seemed like it was working, she was drunk too, and for the first time, I felt that she was opening herself up to me, and we were connecting on more than merely a physical level. She allowed me to kiss and make love to her, rather than just sex. I had forgotten all about her unpleasant plan when she held off, delaying orgasm for both of us. “Do the psionic blast now,” she insisted, “Do it now and I will love you.” She had definitely read that book I gave her, and probably been practicing it- alone. The perversity of what we were doing was clear to me, but the good graces of Nevala were worth it to me, and I must admit I didn’t like Tarvi. She saw me only as a potential tool to hurt Nevala, and I didn’t enjoy her scornful looks much, either. I was easily able to locate a telepathic lock on her because she was busy laughing at us, watching us, having hacked through Nevala’s security defenses the way she had Navak’s. Unsurprisingly, she was masturbating and laughing at us. I felt hurt and violated, but Nevala was enraged. Despite the fact that she did it to others, indeed, it seemed that was what they devoted their time to, she was seething. I established the connection, but she made the attack, using me as a channel. All the energy we had generated together was hurled in a ball of hatred at her smirking face. I felt a pop as it hit. Nevala moaned and slumped, spent, on top of me. I wondered if she had passed out, but then she started caressing me. We had been successful, that much we knew. How exactly we didn’t yet know. I had terminated the psychic link just after the attack to prevent Nevala or myself from being pulled down into a death spiral with her. I had just been used to incapacitate or even kill someone, and I wasn’t pleased about it. I felt guilty and evil. But I did like the connection I had with Nevala. She appreciated me, and was glad I was there. She whispered in my ear, “You made me very happy.” I knew then as she caressed me that she wouldn’t sell or kill me. Far from it, she had a secret weapon. I also then understood why the Tal Shiar killed telepaths.  
The next morning we discovered that Subcommander Tarvi had died the night before of a brain injury caused by a fall. Others said she was drunk. Still others whispered that it was autoerotic asphyxiation. Speculation was rampant, facts few, conspiracy theories arising. Finally Commander Rekar and the ship’s doctor issued a shipwide announcement that Subcommander Tarvi had died of a blow to the head with a blunt object. An investigation would begin. There was nothing to link us to it. Nor did Nevala show in public her intentions in private. Then she would caress me, truly happy that I was hers.  
Then they found the nadion particles in Subcommander Tarvi’s brain. They are only found in humanoid brains after intense psychic activity. The presence of a telepathic weapon was suspected. Commander Rekar ordered Subcommander Nevala to search the ship and find it. On deck, she ordered them to perform various tests, in our bed, she laughed at the diversions she had to come up with. She was very happy, and caressed me in bed, telling me so. Not surprisingly, nobody found anything in connection with the alleged murder, although the contention between the two men Tarvi had been interested in became heated, and a variety of accusations began to appear, as each accused the other. Gradually, the gossip circles moved on, and I felt relieved. But I also felt something else, a sense of impending doom and danger. I had underestimated the chances of my remaining undiscovered. “Are we going to Romulus?” I asked.  
“Long enough to reassign the ship,” she said vaguely. “Then you will accompany me to my family home on Veyer Four. I have personal leave to use up, and I wish for my family to meet you. My parents will be proud of me and my brothers will be envious of my success,” she confided, with the wiggling and smirking that often accompanied such statements. I felt a sense of foreboding.  
“It is a wonderful thing for your parents to be proud of you,” I said, “But is making your brothers envious wise?”  
“I outrank them,” she beamed, filled with pleasure, “And the success of our mission has elevated me for a pay raise and a promotion.” The idea of being authorized to order them about was a glorious one for her, and she reveled in it. I got the distinct feeling that they would not share in her happiness.  
“Oh, Nevala,” I said, “You’re so beautiful. Can’t you be as good as you look?”  
She smirked and wiggled around, almost glowing with the shameful joy of outshining her brothers. Then she said, “Do you believe me to be bad?”  
“I think you’re full-time naughty, that’s what I think. You must try to be good. Try!”  
She seemed mystified at what I was even talking about. She expected me to grovel at her feet in gratitude for not having sold me. So she took offense. “What is it you think I am not good at?”  
“You are honorable, and dutiful. I am very fond of you, and you’re very beautiful, but you have no sense of empathy at all.”  
It was the wrong thing to say. “You will be respectful!” She slapped me and decided to prove her point again when we reached Narial. It was the Romulan version of Risa, with a dark twist. Instead of willing workers, the people who served drinks and more were all slaves. The lucky ones were serving drinks, and I saw several humans working in such a capacity, all with Romulan names tattooed on their arms. They were all very young and attractive, and grateful that their capture had only resulted in them becoming wait staff. Those with less sympathetic owners were kept in brothels. Prostitutes were everywhere, of all races, and were bought and sold freely. To make her point, Nevala listened to the offers they made to her to purchase me. They bought her drinks and offered her large sums of latinum. I knew what she was waiting for, and didn’t delay.  
I dropped to my knees when we were alone. “I’ll be good. I will be respectful and obedient. Please don’t sell me to a brothel.”  
“Do you appreciate your good fortune and everything I have done for you? I could rid myself of the danger of having you around and have a stack of latinum instead.”  
I knew she didn’t really want to do that, but the drunker she got, the greater the chances that she would make a bad decision, and I really didn’t want to end up a prostitute. There was also a chance that someone might just knock her out and do whatever they wanted. “Yes, I appreciate everything you have done for me, and I will be your willing and obedient love slave for the rest of our lives. Please, do not sell me to a brothel!”  
She smiled in satisfaction, swaying a little. “Very well,” she agreed. “But remember what can happen if you become intractable and disrespectful.”  
“I didn’t understand how much that meant to you,” I said, “I will never disrespect you again. I am very sorry that my attempts at humor were so inappropriate and offended you.”  
“As you should be. Remember, this is not Federation space, and different rules apply here. You will please me or I will sell you.” She smiled down at me. She could beat me every day and it would still be better than being a slave working in a brothel. She knew she had made her point. Flush with success, it was time to party, and party she did. Although Nevala did not gamble, she certainly did drink, and enjoyed all the entertainment Narial had to offer, which was some of everything, to cater to every jaded taste a sadistic Romulan might have developed. I was lucky that her tastes tended towards shopping instead of the brutal competitions and “humorous” shows like whipping Pakleds. She’d seen slaves whipped to death before, it wasn’t nearly as compelling to her as the chance to buy several elegant gowns and matching shoes, all altered to fit perfectly and accentuate her body. The military uniform hadn’t done her figure any favors. It was meant to be unisex and efficient, that was all. She looked fabulous in her new outfits, and she decided to put me in a simple black dress, also tailored to emphasize my figure. She was after all, interested in showing me off, and that dress did make me look great. She gave me a drunken kiss and said, “Nudity is for slaves no one likes.” I thanked her, glad to be a slave that someone cared about. Brothels were everywhere, and I was very glad to not find myself sold into one of them. Nevala found a place with female aliens of every race, many that I had never seen before. Nevala chose a lovely, blue-skinned nude alien woman with tentacles and a tail, and we joined her in a plush booth with a sticky floor and a furniture arrangement of what I can only describe as lounging couches and bending puffs. Nevala instructed me to lie down on one of the cushions and ordered the blue woman to pleasure me. Her tentacles secreted a substance that tingled, and her tail was quite flexible, and she was adept at using it. It was quite an experience, and Nevala watched in fascination, giggling at my responses. After enjoying watching the two of us, she had the blue woman pleasure her. Afterward, she asked me if I had enjoyed myself. I admitted that I had. “Good,” she said, “That was expensive. A rare celebratory treat.” Anything you can imagine was for sale there, and she had to restrain herself on her shopping spree or her latinum would quickly be gone. Since she had me, we made one more stop for shoes, and then she was unwilling to spend any more latinum. Fortunately, our stopover was brief. We had to report back to the ship before she could get too drunk, spend too much, or any other sort of disaster befall us. Beset by thieves or murdered for her money were not impossible, and I was glad to leave and be back aboard the ship.  
Commander Rekar was surprised to see me. “You didn’t sell her?” he asked Nevala.  
“No,” she said, “I found that I already have everything I need.”  
He looked somewhat surprised but then dropped the subject. I was her property, and if she wanted to keep most of her wealth locked into one slave, that was her decision. “Set a course for Romulus,” he told her. And we were underway.  
“Romulus is the most beautiful planet in the galaxy,” she told me.  
“That’s a lot of planets for comparison,” I said.  
“You will see it for yourself,” she promised, “And you will be impressed.”  
In that statement she was not wrong. After the military welcome, in which she, Commander Rekar, and the entire crew received commendations for their heroic actions on behalf of the Empire, we were free to indulge in several days of shore leave there with honors. An awkward social event to be certain, and I felt as conspicuous as the ship they had commandeered. I noticed it was the first time Navak and Verys had left the ship. He definitely hadn’t wanted her to see those awful slave trade planets, and only wanted her to see the magnificent scenery of his homeworld. Romulus does possess an awesome natural beauty, and the landscape is stunning. It is also overpopulated with paranoid Romulans, always eyeing each other for signs of treachery. While beautiful, there was an overwhelming and pervasive atmosphere of suspicion and wariness that wore me out. They were suspicious about everything. The atmosphere resembled that of being stuck in a giant, majestic insane asylum full of paranoiacs. Walking through the busy streets of Romulus made me long for the relaxing pleasantness of Betazed. We were watched constantly, and being there felt like an ongoing anxiety attack. People stared at us with a mix of curiosity and envy, but no one said anything, other than to congratulate her on her great military success. It was a true point of status, military honors were deeply respected. She was rich, beautiful, and cloaked in glory on behalf of the Empire, what everyone there wanted to be. Nevala reveled in the attention, having a valuable slave was something to show off, and she enjoyed the increase in status. Beautifully dressed, with me at her side to obey her every whim, she was certainly envied and admired by all. But it paled quickly, and she became wary of attracting too much attention. Tal Shiar officers occasionally stopped us, asking her questions. I quickly learned to appreciate the efficiency of the tattoo, and wondered what would have happened if I didn’t have it. Nothing I would have enjoyed, certainly. Because she had registered her alien body slave properly, after verifying our identities, they let us go on our way. Fortunately, for the several days we stayed there, we remained in the countryside, safely away from the spying and monitoring in the busy, fortress-like concrete gray cities. We slept out under the stars, admiring the color changes of the twin moons and the light changes as the sun set over the mountains. The majestic scenery of Romulus was truly impressive.  
“Do you like it?” she asked me, as we sat on the edge of a twilight lake, which reflected the glow from the heavens above.  
“It is beautiful,” I agreed. “More beautiful than I had ever imagined. Even though I feel like a pair of magic boots you’re showing off.” Although I must say that we did look great. The outfits she bought on Narial turned out to be fabulously fashionable.  
She grinned and twinkled with delight, “Oh, I am!” The effect was truly cute. Then she asked, “Do you like me?”  
“Of course I do,” I said, “You’re beautiful, too. And too cute to stay upset at.”  
“Do you still think so, after you have seen the other Romulan women?” Some of them were truly stunning, and they didn’t wear boxy uniforms, they wore attractive but practical outfits that I liked a lot, too. It has always amazed me that Vulcans are such fancy dressers, but it’s the Romulans that marry style and practicality together so well. You’d think it would be the other way around, but it isn’t. I guess it’s never illogical to look fabulous.  
“Yes,” I said, and I gave her a hug. “You’re pretty to both humans and Romulans. You have nothing to worry about in that regard.” But she did worry. It was in her nature to be paranoid and suspicious, and anyone looking at me too long activated her paranoid fantasies. She was truly afraid that I would collude with someone else to betray her to the Tal Shiar and run away. It was almost impossible to soothe her enough to dissipate that constant suspicion and fear.  
“Do you love me?”  
It was a question she would come to ask me frequently, usually while we were having sex, and a great deal more complex than it appeared on the surface. “Love takes time, Nevala, and trust. I can only love you as much as you will trust me and accept it. But yes, I do love you, even if you don’t feel it.” I knew better than to ask the same question of her. The expectation was devotion on the part of a slave for her master, not the other way around. Yet I knew she did feel something other than arrogance, superiority, pride of ownership and a greedy sense of how much she could sell me for and what she could use me for. Beneath the lifetime of paranoia she wanted someone to trust, and to be her companion. And I sensed that she did truly enjoy my company, along with what had become a great sex life with her favorite secret weapon. The thought of spending the rest of my life serving someone who didn’t truly care for me was a lonely one.  
“Perhaps I can only trust you once I am certain of your love,” she answered. The paranoid part of her still expected me to turn on her at some terrible moment, perhaps even colluding with an enemy and already plotting her downfall. That was why she hadn’t permitted me to interact with any other Romulans. Betrayal was seen as inevitable, and real trust was rare. While the paranoia wore me out, it was also starting to make me feel sad, and I was coming to appreciate how isolated and alone she really felt.  
“Then time will indeed bring us closer together,” I said, wanting to reassure her. She had taken a huge risk, passing a Betazoid off as a human, and I wanted her to feel that it was worth it. I put my arms around her, and she permitted it. She seldom allowed me to spontaneously touch her, without her express permission, and never in front of anyone. Romulans are very modest in public, any physical expressions of affection being seen as risqué. There were no brothels in evidence, anywhere, but she told me that they were there, hidden away from public view for decency’s sake. But since we were mostly alone at an alpine lake, she indulged me. I loved touching her ears, they came to a fine and elegant point that had something both ladylike and fascinating about them. Mostly my stroking of her ears made her feel ticklish. For her part, she had a fascinating with staring at my breasts. And other parts of my body, but primarily she liked looking at and touching my nipples. They were pink, and hers were a dark gray.  
“I like looking at you,” she said, and undid the clasps that held my dress up. She had put me in the black open sleeved dress that left my arms visible so the tattoo could be seen. She was still wearing her uniform, from the awards ceremony, and there was no chance she was going to take it off outdoors. We were being watched, I could feel it, and so could she. I could sense it, and she knew from long experience that to be on Romulus was to be surveilled. But I could slip my hand down her trousers, and she quivered with surreptitious excitement. Even if no one who was watching really cared that much, she had the thrill of feeling like she was getting away with something, and every Romulan loved the feeling of getting away with something. It was a bigger thrill than even sex.  
We were not on Romulus long before we boarded a ship bound for the Romulan colony planet, Veyer Four, where Nevala was from. Her family lived there, and she was looking forward to going home, and flaunting her power and position. Our few belongings packed along with us in bags, we settled into a small cabin equipped with only a bed and what my great-grandmother would have called an efficiency kitchen. Romulan ships did not have replicators in the rooms, as most Starfleet vessels do, or holodecks, for that matter. We were expected to partake of meals at designated times in the mess hall, and entertainment was crew-based productions. Most of the time such evening entertainment consisted of someone playing an instrument while everyone else played board games or cards. Occasionally a more talented group got together and formed a band or an acting troupe. The quality was passable, but the content usually bored or confused me. Patriotic music and plays bored me the first time I heard them, and became even more annoying the more I heard the same songs and themes over and over. There was little else on the warbirds. But the primarily civilian vessel going to Veyer Four was a more eclectic mix, and even included some dancing. As soon as the ale starts flowing, they all get wild. Physical assaults are not uncommon, and fights eventually break out. Sometimes the fights are planned, other times it is simply guys punching each other. Nevala was off duty, and although she still would not allow me out of her sight, relaxed quite a bit, even allowing herself to have some fun. Although she did drink, she did not gamble, and so arrived at Veyer Four still in possession of her latinum. I drank, quite a bit sometimes, and enjoyed the party atmosphere. I was pleasantly surprised one evening when after dinner instead of guys punching each other the show was about a princess who was in love with her beautiful slave girl. They went on a great adventure, and died together rather than be separated. The music was hauntingly beautiful, and I found it strangely enchanting. Nevala was drunk enough at the time to enjoy it as well without feeling self-conscious. I asked her about it afterwards, and she told me that it was a popular story everyone knew.  
“Are there any other stories like it?” I asked. “I really enjoyed it.” I knew she enjoyed watching guys punch each other just as much if not more.  
“There are other versions of the same story,” she said.  
“Are there any others with a happy ending?”  
“A happy ending?”  
“Yes, where they live happily together forever at the end of the story instead of dying.”  
“That version has no tragedy or passion in it and is for babies,” she told me.  
“Can I see it? Is there one available?”  
“In the nursery.”  
“Can we see it?”  
Nevala reluctantly took me to the children’s entertainment area when the performance in question was scheduled. I loved it. It was beautiful and touching, and I loved the singing. Nevala fell asleep in her seat beside me, and it did occur to me that if I was going to attempt an escape, that would be the time to do it. Yet, the point of doing so was vague and dubious at best. I doubted I would get far, and we were already deep in Romulan space. Unless I managed to quickly steal a shuttle with a cloaking device, any escape attempt would be discovered. But to do so would prove my duplicity and betrayal to Nevala, and honor would force her to kill me. So I sat still and dutifully awakened her at the end of the show, when the parents with their adorable little pointy-eared infants were getting up and leaving the room. She seemed chagrined that she had fallen asleep to begin with. She liked the next night’s show better, about a brave warrior who goes on adventures, bringing home a beautiful girlfriend from every place he went and they all lived happily together, united in their adoration of him. By the end he had ten such individuals all living in his house and he was off on another adventure to find more, plus other rare and wonderful treasures that he discovered or stole along the way. I found the entire premise fictional and thus humorous, but Nevala found it inspirational. “Why are you laughing?” she asked. She sometimes wondered if I was crazy.  
“Because the notion that all those people are going to live peacefully together, given the sexual arrangement, is unlikely at best. I think they’re going to fight.”  
“He rescued them and so they all owe him their lives. They owe him a debt of gratitude, and it would be disrespectful of them to behave in such a way.”  
“I think it’s a highly unrealistic situation to begin with,” I said.  
“I shouldn’t expect you to understand a warrior’s perspective,” she concluded.  
I woke up that night to her making love to me, deeply and passionately. I return her kiss and she stopped in shock, and reached for a hypospray. I blacked out again. The next morning I asked her why she had done it. “I was weary of your talking,” she said.  
“It wounds me deeply to hear you say that. You don’t have to knock me out. I enjoy that kind of intimacy, and it makes me feel like you like the way I look more than you like me.” She just stared, and I felt worse. She wasn’t going to say anything, and she wasn’t going to stop doing it, either. Anything I said would be disrespectful or prove why she did what she did. But I felt completely betrayed.  
Veyer Four was at the edge of the Beta Quadrant, and it took us several weeks to get there. Nevala was off duty and planned to enjoy it, so we spent most of that time in our quarters having sex. Nevala had obtained a copy of an ancient Vulcan text on the arts of mating, and wanted to work our way through it. Although I have the utmost respect for Vulcans, their logical approach to this particular art had both of us laughing. She found acceptable alternatives that didn’t involve quite so much counting and meditation. Most of the time we abandoned the exercises in the book and played with the pleasure devices. I had promised her that I would make her happy, and she was. She was in perfect health, and showed no signs of illness, although I had a bad reaction to uma roots and ended up in sickbay. Fortunately the doctor had experience in treating aliens so I didn’t die of anaphylactic shock.  
While in the medical bay I received another amazing piece of news. I was pregnant. This was stunned me since the only person I had been with was female. And our adventure with the blue slave prostitute. “What did you do, Nevala?” I asked her.  
“I decided that you should give birth to my clone,” she told me proudly.  
“What? So you just decided that one day?” I asked her, feeling betrayed. “And you didn’t say anything about it to me?”  
“Why are you displeased?” she asked. She was quite delighted that her plan had succeeded, and was annoyed that I was fussing at her.  
“Because giving birth and caring for a child are very important things, not to be undertaken lightly. And you didn’t even ask me, you simply assumed.”  
“I make those decisions,” she reminded me. “You belong to me.”  
“I’m not thrilled about that arrangement either, but putting that aside for a moment, be practical! What do you plan to do, bring a baby onto a warbird with you?”  
“Of course not, that would be reckless. You will remain at home with the child and I will return in between assignments.”  
“Where is home?”  
“We are going there,” she snapped at me.  
“There is so much wrong with this plan,” I told her.  
“There will be no more discussion about my planning,” she ordered me. Nor would she tolerate me bringing up the subject again, at least as far as questioning her was concerned. She was delighted with her cruel and creepy plan to clone herself and expected me to be happy right along with her. When I asked her when she had done it, she admitted to having inserted the cloned embryo when I was in sickbay, passed out for several days, just before she had tattooed her name on my arm. When I asked her why she had done it, she didn’t have an answer. It almost seemed like a spur of the moment decision, one easily forgotten and concealed from memory. That might explain why I didn’t pick up on it. Or maybe I was just too upset to notice her hiding something when my own emotions were running wild. Mostly I was scared and angry at the thought that she had fallen in love with my unconscious body and not me. I thought she was a sadistic bitch for having concealed such an action from me, and frightened for the future. I was pregnant and going to give birth. Then what? At best, I was in a bad relationship, at worst, I might be killed after the child was born. I wanted her to be happy with me, and for the most part she was, but the sudden shifts in mood were dangerous. And it wasn’t just Nevala who acted from sudden passion, they were all that way under a controlled deviousness. I agree with Surak. These people need logic.  
I became depressed, and she became upset with me for being depressed. She still wanted to have sex, and I was listless and unresponsive at best, which ironically, frustrated her. Then she took it quite personally, misinterpreting sadness for disgust or revenge. “Why do you shudder at my touch?” she demanded. “Or do you find carrying my child distasteful?”  
“Neither one,” I told her, “I’m worried and depressed. I don’t like being a slave, and I’m terrified at how this could end.” She looked at me strangely so I just said it. “Betazoid bonding is very deep. I will have formed a strong telepathic bond with our baby before she is even born. If you separate us I might die of grief. The baby might die, too.”  
She looked at me strangely again. “That is not my plan. It my wish that you care for her while I am on duty.” It was all so clear to her. She leaned forward and whispered softly, “And you will teach her telepathy. “  
“So that’s what you wanted me for.”  
“You are beautiful to look at. I enjoy having you around.” But she didn’t want to hear my opinion or allow me to disagree with her at all. Nor was I allowed to object to anything she did or demand anything of her. Nor was I allowed to point out that obvious fact. So I didn’t.  
“I’m relieved to hear you say that, but there is a lot that could go wrong. What if something happens to you?”  
“But you will be safe on Veyer Four,” she said, “You and the child will remain with my family, far from danger and conflict. There is nothing to worry about.”  
Except her family, and I definitely sensed that she was hiding something. “Have you asked them about this? Do they want that responsibility?”  
She got annoyed at the question. “That is how it is done,” she said.  
So, no. She was going to spring it on them, and expect everyone to be happy about it. “Perhaps,” I agreed, “That may indeed be the custom among your people. But I still think it would be wise to ask people before signing them up for commitments like that.”  
“It is the custom, and it is what we will do,” she informed me.  
“You’ve made several huge assumptions,” I said, “And I hope for all our sakes’ that you’re right.”  
“Of course I am correct,” she snapped. But I sensed doubt. She was presuming a lot. That was however the end of the discussion, and she expected everything to be perfect. She also expected me to continue to serve her in the capacity of a loving slave. Deep in Romulan space, I had never felt so vulnerable and alone. She was still my best hope for survival, and she was well aware of it.  
“Can we make a contingency plan?” I asked.  
“A what?”  
“An alternate plan. Imagine for some reason that life on Veyer Four doesn’t meet your expectations. Where else could we go? Is there any way we could stay together and bring our child along?”  
“That would be convoy duty,” she said with disgust. “There is no advancement or glory in that.”  
“Welcome to parenthood,” I said. She gave me a sour expression. “Remember you thought this up.”  
Romulan babies are adorable, and I forgave Nevala her treachery as I observed several Romulan families aboard the ship, because I was delighted with idea of one of my own. Nevala was beautiful, I was sure her clone would be a darling baby. When we were alone, I told her so, and she gave me a look that told me that I had just confirmed her suspicions that I might be an idiot. “So what shall we name the baby?”  
She gave me another one of those looks, and said, “After me. She is my clone.”  
“That won’t work. Two people with the same name is too confusing. How about Velana? That is a different spelling of your name.”  
“Very well.”  
I got the strange feeling that she wasn’t actually very interested. “Why do you want me to give birth to your clone if you have so little interest in raising the child?”  
“The infant is for you. The adult is for me.”  
“What? What do you plan on doing with her? Are you planning on making some sort of superspy and aiming her at the Federation? I do not approve of weaponizing a child.”  
She smiled at me. “Fortunately she is my clone, and will be a full-blooded Romulan.”  
How wrong she was! “The telepathic powers you want your clone to have are developed in adolescence. Guiding and developing those abilities takes experience and teaching.”  
“She won’t be born with them?”  
“Hopefully not. Occasionally a child is born with telepathic abilities switched on, and it’s overwhelming for the child. Betazoids like that have problems all their lives.”  
“Are you saying there is a chance our baby could be crazy?”  
“It’s not likely, but not impossible, either.”  
She looked disturbed and concerned, “How soon would we know?”  
“That problem becomes obvious early in childhood, when the child fails to develop a separate sense of self, and becomes mentally unstable due to the deafening influx of other people’s thoughts and feelings.”  
“Is there a cure?”  
“There is no cure, but a life of relative isolation seems to be the answer for most of them.” I could tell she was deep in thought, coming up with more bad ideas, so I sought to reassure her, “That very seldom happens. Don’t worry too much about it. That’s unlikely to occur.”  
“You tell me not to worry, yet you are concerned yourself.”  
“Yes, I am concerned, but for different reasons. I wish you had consulted me before deciding to implant a clone of yourself in my womb. I don’t know exactly what will happen. Romulans have latent telepathic abilities similar to those of Vulcans. Those could very well be switched on at birth. We don’t know what to expect in this experiment of yours.”  
“Are you familiar with Vulcan telepathy?”  
“It is different than Betazoid telepathy. Vulcans are touch telepaths. Betazoids only need a line of sight. Some don’t even need that.” She looked concerned and confused, and a little scared. She obviously hadn’t thought through all the little details in her quest for the glory of creating a patriotic superspy. I didn’t tell her that her goal was unrealistic and quite possibly stupid, but there was no way of knowing what to expect. However, I wanted to reassure her so she didn’t concoct any more bad ideas. “Don’t worry. Everything will probably be fine. As long as she knows that we love her, she’ll be fine.”  
“We will teach her everything she needs to know to pass for a Vulcan,” she decided.  
“That’s a wise idea for several reasons,” I said, just not the one for which she was created. I could just imagine the poor girl living on Vulcan, just trying to get her head straight by overhearing only calm, logical voices and sensing only restraint. But my answer satisfied Nevala for now. Then something occurred to me. “Is this your only clone?”  
She smiled, “So far. It seems a perfect job for you,” she laughed. “Cloning from the original carries no risk of genetic decay.”  
“How many children do you plan on having?”  
“How long does your species live?”  
“Anywhere from one hundred to three hundred years, depending upon how much we embrace the pleasures of overeating and other indulgences.”  
“Many children,” she decided. “Since you are so incapable of violent action, you are the perfect person to bear and nurture my clones.”  
“Let’s see how much you enjoy having one around before adding more,” I suggested. She gave me a look implying I was insouciant, so I stopped there. With even one child I would be severely hampered in any attempts to escape. With more than one I would be stuck on some remote planet in the Beta Quadrant for the rest of my life, a slave in the Romulan Empire.  
It was the end of our discussion, and left me wondering if there was an alternative to spending the rest of my life on a remote planet deep in Romulan space. I had abandoned all realistic hopes of being rescued, but as long as we were on a ship, I could entertain unrealistic hopes, including the possibility that we might someday go to Vulcan. I could just imagine it- the conflict between Nevala and her clone, in disguise as the poor child tried to get some sort of emotional stability after being raised by paranoid Romulans. Who’s side would I even be on at that point? Probably cleaning up after both of them, appreciating the irony of the form my return to Federation space took. Keeping Nevala satisfied was fairly easy, as long as I did everything she ordered me to do, and so our relationship returned to the same state it had been in before. Until one of the men on the ship expressed an interest in her. Since I was her slave, not her wife, she was still free to marry, and acquire the benefits that came with that as well. She was also curious about sex with men, just as she’d been curious about me and the blue alien woman. Since she was so young, and had only been with me, she decided to experiment. I had a feeling that it wouldn’t meet her expectations.  
I was reading a strange storybook of ancient Romulan mythology in our quarters when she returned from her “date,” looking very unhappy. “How did it go?” I asked. I could tell not well. She didn’t respond at first, she just stumbled drunkenly into bed and fell asleep. The next morning I got an earful. He didn’t understand her, he ordered her around, and expected her to please him, not the other way around. Part of her dissatisfaction might have come from her basic orientation, she was attracted to women. Homosexuality is very common in Romulans, but mostly she was spoiled. She didn’t realize it, but she was used to the easy intimacy of Betazoid lovemaking, and having me doing everything she ever wanted without her even having to ask. I didn’t tell her that, but by the end of her rant, she had figured it out. Then she said, “Perhaps I shall one day marry for power and prestige, but for now, I think I am happier just having you.”  
I was overjoyed to hear that, because I didn’t want anyone else around to complicate matters. I certainly didn’t want to be servicing two of them, either, which was one of the things her “date,” had been expecting. Not just expecting, but had big plans for. She was jealous and possessive, and became incensed by the very notion that she was going to be expected to share her valuable body slave. I gave her a hug, and told her, “That’s the way I like it. I don’t want any of the rest of them, I only want to be with you.” It was certainly true. We had settled into a comfortable routine of sex and pleasure that I enjoyed as well, and I knew that if she found a mate, things would change. She knew it, too, and was in no hurry to change her satisfying sex life for a situation in which she was expected to work at it, and even worse, share.  
“Am I a lazy lover?” she asked unexpectedly.  
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Did he call you that?”  
“Yes,” she admitted. “Is that true?”  
“From his perspective,” I explained. “He’s probably used to women and men trying to please and impress him. You’re used to an empathic lover who is focused entirely on pleasuring you.” It was a very nice way of saying she was spoiled. Nor was she offended. Quite the contrary, she had an even greater appreciation for why she could sell me for so much, and was happily resolved not to do so, only to continue reveling in her good fortune.  
“I don’t need him at all,” she decided. “I don’t enjoy what he likes, either.”  
“I had a feeling that would happen,” I said, “But now you know, and that’s something in itself. Knowledge is power.”  
“Indeed,” she agreed, “I’m happy with what you do for me. I see no reason at all to inconvenience myself for his pleasure when I get so little out of it.” Then she smiled, “I’m keeping you forever.”  
“And that was what I was hoping for. I have become bonded and very fond of you.”  
She kissed me in human fashion, and was very affectionate for the next several days. Then I again awoke to her making love to my body, and she again used a hypospray to knock me out. When I next woke I asked her why she had done that. I tried not to sound judgmental, but I was hurt and I wanted to know why she loved me more asleep.  
“It is different,” she said, “And I do not want you in my head.”  
I was even more hurt. But she was looking at me suspiciously. She could never quite trust me. Never quite. So a hundred little manipulations and ways to control me would be employed. Her emotional state then was alien to me, and I didn’t like feeling it within her. And it was what she didn’t like most about me. We were silent until she next felt like having fun, which was later that evening. She wanted to go to dinner and see whatever entertainment was on offering afterward. I simply agreed. I was surprised when the story was about a girl who is telepathic with animals. Apparently the Tal Shiar killed people with that ability yet it was admired when found in conjunction with animals. No one else found this strange. Everyone delighted in the girl’s ability and beauty except her parents, who conspired to kill her. They succeeded, but she was brought back to life by a handsome young man who courted her body romantically. Nevala smiled at me, expecting this strange story to explain her behavior and excuse it in the future. 

Chapter 2  
Veyer Four

“After the magnificence of Romulus,” she said, “Veyer Four may be a disappointment.”  
“Agreed. Romulus was spectacular, and if your people weren’t so paranoid, you could have a fantastic tourist business going. But do you mean mildly disappointing as in flat and boring, or fetid swamp?”  
“Subcommander Almac overstated the case,” she said. “It’s not that bad.”  
No, he didn’t. The smell hit me as soon as we exited the shuttle. Subcommander Almac’s exact words were “filthy, stinking bog full of biting insects.” Nor did he disembark. He was going on to Ritax Seven for the surfing and slave girls. I wasn’t sure what to hope for, except to not throw up. Maybe pregnancy had made me oversensitive to smells, but I have always found the odor of pond muck disagreeable. I covered my mouth and nose and asked, “Does the whole planet smell like this?”  
“No, the estates are on higher ground,” she assured me.  
“Ugh,” I said. “I have a great idea. Let’s go to Betazed!” She gave me a stern look, and I added, “Failing that, let’s go back to Romulus. Or, anywhere! Nevala, I’m going to throw up!” I did, several times, and for the rest of the journey I definitely felt like vomiting some more. We boarded another small shuttle, and were soon in the air for a short journey to her family estate. As I looked out the windows, I saw a flat, swampy landscape beneath us, with little villages of shanties perched on stilts, and fishing boats floating around, punctuated by what looked like medieval fortresses built on top of bluffs and buttes. “What am I looking at?”  
“The main export from this planet is a type of shellfish,” she explained. She showed me a picture of a little lobster-like creature, and it reminded me of Terran crawdads. “Yurps farm the waterways, while trade is controlled from Romulus. The land is owned by Romulan families, of which mine is one. We have been here for almost three hundred years.”  
“Are the Yurps slaves?”  
She looked at me like I was unbelievably naïve and turned up her nose, “Of course they are.”  
“How do they feel about that?”  
“They stink,” is all she said.  
And unfortunately, she was quite correct. When we disembarked from the shuttle, outside of a massive medieval looking fortress, complete with a moat and a drawbridge, several Yurps were hauling garbage out of the moat and loading it onto skidders. They were not attractive creatures, bent over and scaly, with terrible teeth, droopy tails, an ill-favored look and a hideous smell. The odor reminded me of sea life rotting in the garbage out in the hot sun. Nevala ignored them completely and they skulked out of her way as we waited for the drawbridge to be lowered. “What is this place?” I asked her.  
“This is my family home,” she smiled.  
“You grew up here?” I asked, looking at the smelly, medieval fortress. It was a hundred feet high, with turrets and garrisons, and twice as wide. She smiled and nodded, quite proud of it. “It reminds me of a castle,” I said, trying to think of something nice to say. It looked like a leftover from twelfth century Earth and it smelled like it, too. I didn’t need to ask if the moat was usable for swimming, I was confident it wasn’t and that all manner of refuse was blithely tossed into it, for the slaves to salvage or sink to the bottom. “But why the moat and fortifications?”  
“Slave uprisings are to be discouraged,” she said, as the drawbridge came down and we began to walk across it. Two large, hairy, boxy-looking aliens pulled on the chains that raised the drawbridge behind us. It was clear that no Yurps were permitted inside the fortress.  
“Who are they?” I asked, pointing at the large, furry aliens pulling the chains.  
“Gurbans,” she answered. “They are reliable, if dull slaves. Strong and slow.”  
“Are these Beta Quadrant species?”  
“Yes. Have you never seen them before?”  
“No, I haven’t, and I am curious.”  
“There will be many new species for you to observe,” she said.  
“I don’t suppose it would be possible for me to catalogue them and send the summary to Starfleet?”  
She gave me a look that fully stated how foolish that expectation was, and then laughed. “No,” she said. I must have looked sad, because she added, “But do your work, and you may bequeath it to the child. She will have opportunity to make good use of it.”  
“Are you still planning on using her as a spy?”  
“You will teach her everything you know,” she said. So she could train a superspy. Possibly more than one. She felt that what she was doing was patriotic and logical. She also felt quite brilliant at having captured me. The Tal Shiar doesn’t need a secret cloning facility. The average Romulan is arrogant enough to take such a project upon themselves, and feel dutiful about it.  
We reached the other side of the bridge, and the big hairy aliens began raising the drawbridge up behind us. They went about their chore in a slow, methodical way. Their minds were simple, but it was backed up with muscle. They did what they were told, but not in any particular hurry. They were working for food, and to stay indoors away from the stench of the Yurps and their stinky planet. I took inspiration from them. I would cooperate with my captors, but in no rush. “Yes,” I agreed, “You’re right. I will teach her everything I know. I will love her, too. Promise me you will be kind to her.”  
She seemed offended, “Do you think I would not be?” I realized that this might be one of those honor things, and she, ironically, might slap me for it. That was the problem, and I hoped she wouldn’t try to control our child using the same techniques. But there was plenty of time in the future for that.  
“The Federation does not have slaves. Yet I find myself here in this unfamiliar environment, and I have no experience with any of this. I do not know what to expect. I need you to help me.”  
“In the Romulan Star Empire, no Vulcanoid is a slave. Even fractional blood is sufficient. All other races and species are enslavable. Value is dependent upon rarity and skill, and attractiveness. Yurps are worth nothing. The gate guards are worth something. You are a jewel. And you belong to me.” She reached out with fondness and touched my cheek. She smiled affectionately as she pushed my hair behind my ear, “And only to me. You need not follow any orders other than mine.”  
That was a mighty boon, and I realized it immediately, despite my unfamiliarity with the surroundings. I had just been liberated from an undesirable list of dangers, duties and punishments, including all interactions with her relatives. They had no authority over me as long as she was alive. If she died then I technically belonged to her clone. She would keep her jewel flawless, and as such, I would hold my value for a long time. She was overflowing with pride and so I thanked her and gave her a quick kiss when no one was looking. A small, green furry creature approached us. It looked like a cross between a cat and a fox.  
Nevala dropped everything and picked it up. “Tee-cho! Oh, I missed you!” Then she proceeded to sing a song of everlasting love to the creature, who tolerated her singing and dancing with good humor. It was good to be appreciated. I must admit to feeling a little jealous of that green furball, whom she handed to me after her song and dance. It looked at me with a smug, satisfied smile, and I knew who she loved the most of all.  
I followed her down the labyrinthine hallways until we reached the rear of the fortress, where three Romulan women were commanding half a dozen pale, skinny, eight-armed aliens in a massive kitchen. The youngest of the three spotted us first, and looked at us with an expression of horror, which Nevala completely failed to notice. Then the middle aged woman turned around. “Nevala!” she shouted, alerting the old woman to our presence, and tossed what she had been doing aside. The pale aliens ignored us completely and kept working.  
“Mother!” Nevala jumped, and embraced the other woman. She had tears in her eyes. “Oh, I’m so happy to be home!” She was happy and relieved, thinking she could finally relax from duty for a while.  
“I’m so happy to see you, Nevala,” she answered. It was sort of true. Her horrible sister-in-law’s child was back. But she brought a lot of money home with her.  
The older woman approached us. She was staring at me and I had the sensation of being stalked by a tiger. Nevala was a pawn, and a bothersome one, but in me she saw a saboteur. “What have you brought with you?”  
Nevala broke off her embrace and said, “This is Brenda, from Starfleet. I acquired her when we commandeered a ship in the Alpha Quadrant. I brought her home. Isn’t she beautiful?” She touched my hair, showed them the tattoo, and quickly retold the story of how we had met- the seizing of the vessel. Nevala’s mother swooned over her, telling her how brave and beautiful she was, covering a tremendous amount of anger. I sensed something unpleasant underneath, something Nevala was wholly unaware of, but that showed on the old woman’s face briefly, as she watched them. A sadistic smile in an unguarded moment. I was beneath her note, a mere slave, so she didn’t care that I had seen that awful smirk. Nevala hadn’t seen, her eyes were closed, listening to her mother tell her how wonderful she was. The youngest of the three, Nevala’s “sister,” sulked openly, not bothering to hide her jealousy and anger that Subcommander Nevala was home, successful and showing off. That Nevala did notice, and reveled in it, thinking that certainly now their mother loved her the most.  
“What is this human good for?” the old woman asked, eyeing me. She was easily the most evil woman I had ever met, her tone and the look in her eyes told me everything. I had seen that same look once before, on the face of a cat who hated me for smelling lemony fresh. I knew immediately that all would not be well.  
Nevala opened her eyes and spoke. “Grandmother! Aren’t you happy to see me?” The old woman nodded as Nevala’s mother assured her that Grandmother was indeed overjoyed at her unexpected return from the dangerous secret mission. I got the distinct feeling that Nevala’s return was a kink in her plans, and that she had fully expected her to die or be captured out in space. Either way, she had planned on being conveniently rid of her. I was terrified.  
“Starfleet?” Grandmother said suspiciously. “Why didn’t you sell her already? Why bring this human here?”  
“She’s not human,” Nevala said excitedly, “She’s far more valuable and enchanting. A Betazoid.”  
They all recoiled as though I were loathsome. I wished Nevala hadn’t told them that, but she trusted them. Worse, when they continued to query her about why she hadn’t sold me, she proudly told them about her clone. They looked horrified. Then her mother recovered her composure and said, “Tell us all about it! From start to finish, we want to hear all the details!” They were used to manipulating her and were expert at it.  
Don’t tell them any more! I thought to Nevala. She heard my words, but thought I was talking about the brothels. She gave me a sidelong look. I was interrupting and she wasn’t stupid enough to tell them that anyway. So I refrained from giving her my opinion, which was that we needed to leave as soon as possible, taking the furry green creature and whatever else she cared that much about with us. I was horrified at what I was overhearing from the grandmother. Not only did she already suspect me of being in league with Tal Shiar but of planning a slave revolt. She had always presumed Nevala an idiot, easy to manipulate, and honorable to a fault. How she had returned from the secret operations mission successful and rich was a freak chance. She would rip her self-confidence from her and take everything before Nevala could waste it on beautiful clones of herself to look at in service of the Empire. She had uses for that money. Nor did she want Nevala gaining any household power. She was a pretty pawn, nothing more.  
“I received the second promotion,” Nevala gushed excitedly, “Soon I will be eligible to become a commander of my own vessel! I also received the Senat Citation, as well as finding Brenda, my par’chai.” She looked over at me and smiled. I was her greatest prize, the clone her most wonderful investment. It broke my heart to feel the energy difference between them all, and I was afraid for her starting then. She didn’t know what they were capable of, or she never thought they would use it against her. She was so proud, telling them about her promotions and the awards she had won, it felt surreal to be one of those awards.  
“The awards come with latinum, don’t they?” Grandmother asked.  
“Oh, yes,” Nevala volunteered, “And a pay raise.” She looked a bit confused, and wondered at Grandmother’s price taggery when having won the appreciation of the Romulan Star Empire was the greatest achievement possible, and put her in line for a major promotion. Money was beside the point. Being able to wear the medallion of a Senat Citation winner was the main thrill. She could pin it to her uniform and everyone would know of her honor. She told them as much, as well as of her plan to use me in negotiations and tactical situations when she had a warbird of her own to command- just as the most decorated and honored Starfleet captains did, like Captain Picard. She had big plans for grand military adventures and greater glory. For my part, I was all for it. I’d rather be on a ship, any ship, than on that cursed swampy planet. Ironically, if I was ever to see home again, being on a warbird was my best chance. They stood there through her patriotic speech, convinced that she really was an idiot who should be relieved of her latinum. They normally relieved her of her money, and had no intention of letting that change.  
I had a horrible feeling right then. I knew what they really wanted and why they weren’t overjoyed at seeing her again. They’d already appropriated the funds from her death benefit. The Federation was wise to have gone off a monetary system centuries ago.  
“When do you plan on selling the Betazoid?” Grandmother asked.  
“Oh, I don’t,” Nevala explained, “I plan on keeping her. She’s going to raise my clone and teach her Vulcan ways. Thus she will serve the Empire and bring us great glory.”  
“What clone?” her mother demanded.  
“I decided to clone myself, so Brenda is pregnant.”  
Both women looked like they wanted to slap Nevala. I became truly afraid for her. “Why did you do that?” her mother demanded.  
“So you couldn’t sell her,” Nevala admitted. She blushed bright green while they stared angrily at her.  
“Did she come from Starfleet?” Grandmother asked.  
“Yes, but…” She was cut off by a slap from Grandmother. Nevala stood there, relieved of command.  
“Then she needs to go. Slaves from Starfleet are nothing but trouble.”  
She was once again in the position of a child, her argument doomed. “But she is trustworthy, and I know that she loves me.”  
They looked at each other like that was ridiculous, and Nevala’s mother said, “Sweet one, that’s unwise. She’s worth enough latinum to trade for a dozen Remans or a new ship. We need that money. That’s too much to let sit in the form of a toy. Give up your silly plan to clone yourself and sell her before she dies and is worth less.”  
Whoa, I was amazed and horrified to learn that I was still worth something after I was dead. Stasis is not necessarily a dealbreaker for everyone. And definitely not for the people who lived in that house. Half of the spices on the shelves were poisonous in one form or another. But Nevala repeated her decision. “No, I’m going to keep her.” She didn’t notice the looks they gave each other, and certainly couldn’t hear their rodent brains scratching around in their own greedy filth, but I could, and I was worried, not just for myself and the baby, but for Nevala. They were surprised she had returned at all, and had already served her purpose. I could tell they would rather have the money, and weren’t going to let her stand in the way, whatever military rank and honors she may have earned. They were already hatching plans to dispose of her. I was horrified.  
“You must be tired,” the mother said, “Go to your room and rest. Tonight we will have a welcoming feast in your honor.”  
Nevala readily agreed, and led me to a massive stone stairway. Seven flights of stairs took us up to what were her private rooms. She was disappointed to see their condition, dusty with someone else’s junk thrown around. The rooms had a sepulchral feel to them, like they had considered her already dead, and they had definitely moved on. Nevala felt it, but refused to believe it. Pointing out the truth would have only served to entrench her denial, so I waited and said nothing. She looked at me, wanting that argument, but I did not provide it. She felt wretched, but tried to hide it, by ordering me to help her clean the rooms and toss the junk out the windows into the moat. I had the feeling everything they didn’t need or want got dumped in such a manner.  
“Is someone else going to be upset that we threw their stuff out?” I asked, as we hurled an ugly old metal table and chairs out the window. They fell down about seventy or eighty feet, making a huge smelly splash in the murky water below. Tee-cho hid underneath the bed.  
“If they want them, let them go and get them,” she decided. “My quarters are not junk storage for them.”  
Actually, they are, I thought, and looked out at the scenery. It was soggy wetland as far as the eye could see, with four other similar fortress-like Romulan estates far in the distance. She put her arms around me and smiled happily- she was home, and planned on enjoying her time off. There was a scurrying next to us and one of the white aliens was signaling for Nevala’s attention. It told her that her brothers were at the door.  
“Let them enter,” she said, and three unattractive Romulan men, her “mother’s” real children walked in. They knew the secret and they surreptitiously mocked her for it. They hated her success and conspired to somehow take it away from her. But they hid their true intentions as they always did. The deception was a source of deceitful joy whenever she wasn’t around.  
“You threw my shipment of scrap metal into the drain!” he accused.  
“It was in my quarters.”  
“Congratulations, sister,” another interrupted the potential argument. “Especially upon the acquisition of an attractive body slave. We’ll forget all about the scrap metal and just look forward to your sharing with us.”  
“No. My treasures are not yours and your garbage is not my problem.”  
“You have to share. Besides, it’s not like you’re staying.”  
“No, I don’t. The laws are clear. Go get your own.”  
“Just push her down,” the third said.  
Nevala growled at him. I’ve heard Klingons do it before, but I’d never seen a Romulan do it. Then her brothers growled back at her, and savagely, at that, each showing a mouthful of ugly, sharp teeth. Then she pulled her disruptor on them. “Get out,” she said, in a cat-like hiss. They did.  
“I think we should leave,” I said.  
“They have no right to anything of mine,” she said. “They know it, too.”  
“Yes, the problem is they don’t care,” I said. It would be difficult to get her to believe the truth about her “mother,” but the intent of those men was obvious. “I don’t trust them, and I definitely don’t want to be left alone with them.”  
“You belong to me. They can’t touch you and you don’t have to obey their orders.”  
I put my arms around her. “Please let’s leave.”  
“They will be told tonight at dinner to stay away from you. I will put them in their place.”  
“I hope that works,” I said, squeezing her. She thought I was afraid for myself, but I was worried for her, too.  
“They may have frightened you with their savagery,” she admitted, “We do not growl at anyone outside of the compound. It is not considered polite. I only do it at them,” she explained. She was rather ashamed of it, especially her own animal noises.  
“I believe you,” I said. “I’ve never seen you do that before.”  
Once we had cleaned up the rooms enough for them to be habitable, we made love until a slave came to fetch us for the welcoming dinner. Two of the thin, white, androgynous eight-armed aliens wanted to bathe her, but Nevala waved them away. “No, I have someone I want to touch me.” She looked at me and smiled, we’d have a lot more fun in the hot tub without those two aliens. “They touch everybody,” Nevala said in disgust. The way she wrinkled up her nose was cute, the way I envisioned those aliens bathing anybody was not. Eight arms and the consistency of a sponge.  
“What planet are they from?”  
“The Tinlings are a genetically engineered species, specifically designed for domestic service. I don’t ever have to touch another one of those,” she smiled affectionately at me.  
Well, if that’s my competition it should be pretty easy to win, I thought to myself, but I didn’t say it, because she would take offense. “I had no idea that life form even existed.” Well, those crazy perverts really did think of everything- solitary, that they could do without actually trusting another Romulan, right down to making eight-armed sponge people. The crazy pervert I was utterly dependent on was leading me back through their fortress of a home to the bathing area, which had been prepared for us by the Tinlings. She shooed two more of them away so that we could enjoy the spa without them.  
Then she lit two candles, lit some incense, and put herbs in the bath. “This is my ritual cleansing,” she explained. “When a warrior returns from battle, a ritual bath in holy leaves washes away the sins of war. Killing, cowardice, fear, guilt,” she paused, “All the negative emotions are sent back to the places they came from. Necessity can make us do wrongful things. The purification process cleanses a warrior’s soul and let’s us come home again.”  
“I understand.” I sat in meditation with her, and sang their prayer song. It was for her soul. Then we soaked in the spa and I combed a sweet smelling oil through her hair, washed and styled it for her. The eight armed aliens brought her a long gray gown, one of the ones she’d purchased when we shopping on the pleasure planet. It was several removes nicer than anything I’d seen her relatives wearing, and she knew it. That was the point. Then she dressed me in the black dress she liked to see me wear, also much nicer than anything they owned, which I realized was the finest point of her gloating. I felt very awkward but Nevala was delighted. She smiled happily, a warrior and a princess about to receive the recognition she felt she deserved. I wasn’t sure when the appropriate time to break the truth to her would be. She felt real fear mixed in with her pride. It would be necessary to enforce her will on others, if they tried to steal her prizes from her. “Say nothing during dinner,” she told me, “Then afterward you will tell me what they were thinking. That is the way starship captains use their telepaths, isn’t it?”  
“Yes, dear,” I tried to reassure her. “Of course I will aid you in any way I can.”  
We walked into an immense room with a long, rectangular metal table with padded chairs around it. Every place had been set for a banquet, and the main item served was crawdads in some sort of buttery sauce along with baked fish. They were delicious. Fruits and vegetables were served with them, but everyone raced ahead for the seafood, leaving the baked roots, berries, and greens for last. Standing behind Nevala, I was served nothing and did not have a place, Nevala gave me things to taste, curious at how I reacted to them. I saw other personal slaves standing behind their masters. They were a motley assortment of species I didn’t recognize and one I did- a Reman. The Tinlings moved quickly around with their eight arms, serving food and wine. As I looked around, I felt the place in some disrepair, and felt a lot of resentment from all around the table.  
I had never imagined a less enthusiastic homecoming than she received. There was also to be another welcoming dinner tomorrow night at the neighbors. I felt a shudder of dread from Nevala at the very thought, and surety and satisfaction from the family elders that they would get their way. They had betrothed her to a neighbor’s son so they would get access to more swampland. The elders made a show of respect, acknowledging her some honor due to her military success, but I didn’t feel like they really meant it, or intended to treat her any better because of it. Behind the false niceness was real hatred and resentment on the part of her three brothers, who were so envious of her success they could taste it. They were also ugly. Really ugly. I had thought that the older two women were simply old, but that wasn’t it at all. They were all ugly people, except for Nevala herself. While the men were jealous of her military success, the women were so envious of her pretty face they would kill her for that alone. The money was an accelerator, a reason to kill her sooner rather than later. They’d already killed her parents for exactly those reasons. They’d gotten away with it once, and would do it again. The entire family gazed at us with cold eyes. Behind her grandfather’s chair stood an elderly Reman, another telepath, who hid his thoughts from me. The only bit he shared was that I was now colluding in their secrets kept from Nevala. I felt cruel and wretched because of it and he knew, so the grandfather knew as well. They were telepathically linked. The entire family was there, from infants, including two stolen young Vulcan children, to the ancient great grandmother and a few neighbors that never went home. I watched them and listened to their conversations, spoken and unspoken, while Nevala regaled the entire family with stories of her successes and honors. It was quickly obvious, to me anyway, that she was the only one worth anything, except for the Vulcans. Apparently the Romulan Star Empire had thought so, too, and had rejected her brothers as unfit for service. They couldn’t pass the intelligence tests and had been sent back home. It made sense to me, and Starfleet has similar standards. They don’t want stupid people standing around on the ships pressing buttons. The children were excited by Nevala’s stories, and peppered her with questions. They were especially curious about the Starfleet woman she had brought home with her. Nevala described me as human. Clearly, she expected her mother and grandmother to keep the secret of what I really was. She trusted them, and she should not have, but in many ways Subcommander Nevala was childlike herself. She assumed her parents would support her decisions, and she also naively assumed that their announcements of love and pride were true. It would be my bitter task to break the news to her that neither were so. No one addressed me except one little boy, who broke protocol and touched my tattooed arm after the banquet. “Oooohhh,” he admired, “You’re so pretty!” I couldn’t help but smile. His father barked at him and he then ran off.  
“Very pretty indeed,” the grandfather approached us and agreed. “You will get a fine price for her.” The Reman stood behind him, staring at me.  
“Grandfather,” Nevala said respectfully, with a little bow, “I do not intend to sell her. I intend to keep her.”  
“It is in the best interests of this family to allocate resources for the benefit of all,” he reminded her. “It is unwise to keep so much profit wrapped up in one place, especially when that profit could be easily lost. One bout of Torothka virus and she would be lost. We would be better off selling her and purchasing another merchant ship after you marry T’kar, and we have more shipments to export.”  
Nevala flinched. “But I cannot do that. She is my par’chai and will give birth to my clone.”  
“That is an unwise choice. You will dispose of the clone and sell the slave.”  
She was very brave to defy him. “No,” she said softly, “I don’t want to do that, and she belongs to me.” The tattoo made that abundantly clear. By Romulan law, I was hers alone. But I was getting the feeling that Romulus was a long ways away, and the law was weak on remote planets of little military interest. The export of high end shellfish was of little strategic importance to the Empire. It was just another agricultural farming planet to them. Crawdads are tasty, but not particularly significant. Starfleet officers however, were of interest, and they knew I was here, the property of Subcommander Nevala who had followed all the rules and registered her beautiful par’chai on the homeworld itself. But I got the distinct feeling that the family did not want to attract any such oversight. I realized that all of their business might not be legal, and they definitely didn’t want that kind of oversight.  
“She will attract Federation spies and Tal Shiar officers,” he said. “The quicker she is sold the better.”  
Nevala looked like she might cry. That was his decision and he expected her to carry it out. Tradition held that he was the head of the household, and she was a mere grandchild. She was expected to obey his wishes. She had no intention of doing so, and her plan of leaving me here in her quarters to raise her clone was crumbling. I had a feeling that wouldn’t work from the beginning, but she still insisted. “By law, she and the child belong to me,” she said.  
“Starfleet officers make poor slaves,” he explained, “Starfleet trains humans to be treacherous. She will kill you and try to escape when the opportunity is right. Do the sensible thing and sell her for the latinum. Buy another human if you wish, one trained from birth to obedience. We need another freighter more than you need a spy for a bedmate.”  
He was right about escaping, but I would not kill Nevala to do it. Quite the opposite. It was now clear that I would have to escape from them and take her with me before they killed her. Still she held her position, and refused. She was brave, and I admired her for it. But her strength and bravery had limits, and she collapsed into tears of disappointment after the banquet when we were alone in her quarters. I told her what I had sensed, and she only cried harder. “Dearest,” I told her, “I know you’re disappointed, but they are not going to change their minds. They want latinum. We should leave now. Before they can marry you off to some neighbor guy for more swampland.”  
“They can’t make me marry anyone, that’s not legal, just a tradition they’re preferring at the moment, and they have no right to take my property,” she said. “And I already gave them most of my latinum. They can’t have any more or you! Nor will I even consider marrying that churlish oaf T’kar. They just want his grandfather’s property, and didn’t even consider my preferences in the matter. I told them I would choose my own mate. What are they thinking?” She lowered her voice to a whisper and put her arms around me. “You’re telepathic. Tell me what they were really thinking.”  
“It’s worse than you have already surmised,” I told her gently, “That woman is not your mother. She’s your aunt… ish. I’m not entirely clear on who’s sister-in-law gave birth to you before they murdered her and your father for their money. It’s long gone and they never told you a word about it.”  
“You’re confused,” she said. “You must have misunderstood. Or been misled by the Reman.”  
“No, I’m not confused at all. I know what I was overhearing, and the only thing the Reman said to me was an acknowledgement that I too was keeping their secrets from you. So I’ve decided to tell you the truth.”  
“No, this cannot be. You just want to leave.”  
“That’s beside the point. They want me to leave.” Those lawless, swamp hillbillies would kill her and take whatever they could, that was obvious to anyone. Anyone except Nevala, who refused to believe that they would kill her for her property. She cried half the night until she fell asleep in my arms.  
We were awakened the next day by two Tinlings wanting to bathe and dress us. They didn’t speak, they simply stood there with the clothes and waited for us to get up out of bed. Tinlings were strange little creatures, androgynous and silent with eight busy little arms. They were only one of the strange new Beta Quadrant species I encountered. But Nevala waved them away. She didn’t want to get up and deal with anyone that day, so we stayed in bed having sex instead, until that evening when the Tinlings returned with Nevala’s mother, who informed us that attending dinner was mandatory.  
Reluctantly, Nevala got dressed, putting me in the same dress as the night before. The older woman and several Tinlings supervised us the entire time, ensuring Nevala actually complied. They escorted us down to several antiquated hovercraft. The older woman, Revet, stared at Nevala, waiting for her to complain about the lack of shuttlecraft. She wanted to make the point that money was needed for useful, practical purposes. Nevala was wise to that temptation, and kept silent about the dilapidated equipment. The journey was smelly, but educational. There were well-traveled roads between plantations, and a variety of species used them. The reptilian natives traversed the roads, often pushing or pulling wagonloads out of the water and then transporting them on the roads. They moved aside for the hovercraft, as did a big, tall species all covered with hair carrying sacks of something. I felt that someone was watching us, and caught sight of a small, dark-skinned Vulcanoid, half the size of a human, riding a painted lizard. He was staring at us, at me, intensely. There was an immediate telepathic connection, and I felt his curiosity as to what I was.  
“What is it?” Nevala asked, as I stared off into the forest.  
“A little, dark-skinned man riding a lizard,” I said, and she spotted him. His cover blown, he turned away and rode off. “What was that?”  
“They live in little underground villages,” she said. “We know very little about them as they are difficult to find.”  
And justifiably so, I thought. They didn’t want to be pressed into service, any more than I did. Nor were they keen on what the Romulans had done to their planet. I felt the potential to make a friend, if the opportunity should ever arise again. Yet, I felt that it wouldn’t. The little man, having satisfied whatever slight curiosity he may have had about me, far preferred being out of sight and out of mind of the Romulans. I was on my own, as far as he was concerned.  
We were soon at another fortress-like house, this one larger than the last, and we were admitted with much fanfare by the inhabitants. Banners hung from the ramparts, and most of it was painted, the beige stone covered with white and a variety of colorful trims. Instead of a stagnant moat, a river flowed past. Hairy, humanoid creatures were playing drums as we approached, and two Orion slave girls approached the hovercraft, throwing flowers at us. Massive gates were opened and closed just as they had been at the other house. It was nicer on the inside, too, with water running through an open courtyard in the center, this area serving as both garden and good-weather dining room. Music was provided by a group of silvery aliens all playing instruments. The sound was very pleasing, light and natural, yet it set a tone for the events impossible to go against. I felt swept up in the music as surely as males had been affected by the Orions. So far, I liked it as much if not better than where we had been. We were led by Tinlings and a young Vulcan woman into the garden area. Nevala was overjoyed to see her again. T’val, for her part, found their reunion agreeable, although I sensed some real happiness from her. Nevala introduced us, and explained to T’val who I was. With typical Vulcan serenity, T’val accepted my presence, although underneath she was curious about Starfleet and the Federation. T’val had come to Veyer Four when she was five years old, after the Romulans had captured a deep space science vessel. Due to their aversion to killing Vulcan children, they brought T’val and her brother T’lav, to be adopted by a Romulan household. So Nevala and T’val had grown up together, and T’val had already been married off to one brother in this house. I inferred that the family wanted a stronger claim to their neighbor’s property, by installing Nevala in their house. She was led to a chair of honor next to the head of the household, and I took my place behind her. I noticed lots of other slaves lining up behind other Romulans, and more Tinlings began serving food and wine. T’val sat down next to her husband and children. Standing behind her chair was a six or seven year old blond human girl. I stared. The girl herself was looking around for things to get into, and although taught restraint by a Vulcan, only sort of cared. T’val gave her food from her own plate, and instructions in being logical. The girl was happy and grateful, regarding T’val as her mother. Looking around, I didn’t think T’val had been very successful in spreading Surak’s teachings. Far from logical, most of the household was already wildly drunk and vocal about it. T’val was more interested in teaching her own children. Half Vulcan and half Romulan, they behaved themselves perfectly when their mother was watching. As soon as her back was turned, they joined in the Romulan children in whatever they were doing. I wondered if it was meant by the universe to be prescient for me. How could I raise a child to be a good person in a household full of treachery? I watched the blond girl, hoping for understanding, and made eye contact with T’val, who I suddenly realized was using Romulan slave laws to her own advantage. Personal slaves were exempt from harassment from other Romulans the way other household members were not. The same rules Nevala cited to try to stop her brothers from raping me were the rules T’val was using to keep her adopted child safer. It was stunning. I stood behind Nevala, listening to the orations and declarations by the heads of household, and worse, a love song by T’kar, who felt no shame at all in his off-key performance. I felt Nevala’s excruciating embarrassment, which by all rights should have been his, but instead they were all waiting for her to save him from himself, presumably by interrupting or joining him. But instead she let him find out where it would take him, which was nowhere. She avoided eye contact with him, and wished it was over. Everyone wished it was over, before it finally was. Worse, T’kar failed to notice, and thought he had impressed us all. He wasn’t ugly, exactly, but he wasn’t handsome, either. T’kar was tall, brutish looking, and the middle son. The elder brother was mated to T’val. He was ugly, and he knew it, but he was also the heir to the plantation. His Vulcan wife was stuck with him by virtue of pon farr, location, and two or three children. T’kar had to do better to impress Subcommander Nevala, who had already been promised to him, but who wasn’t going along with it.  
Nevala was polite to the neighbors, and basked in the adoration of her increased status due to her military honors, but she still refused to marry their son, to the horror of all assembled. I wasn’t sure whether or not a fight might break out, with that many suspicious people all feeling lied to and betrayed all at once. However, there would be no clear line on who would be attacking who, so they eyed one another warily through the rest of the meal. The silver aliens continued playing their beautiful music, for a brief time joined by the little blond human girl. She sang along with them, a haunting melody for a child to sing, and I was entranced. I was looking for an opportunity to talk to the girl, when one of the silver aliens slipped the group and whispered into my ear. “Are you from Starfleet?”  
“I was.”  
“If you ever get back to Federation space, tell them the Snow Callers of Cayad Four are here.”  
“Yes, I’ll do that.”  
Nevala looked over at me in annoyance and the silver alien scampered away to rejoin the troupe. She was tired, aggravated, and didn’t want to marry T’kar. There were questions I wanted to ask the human girl but I could tell Nevala was close to a meltdown and needed support. T’kar was staring at her, the head of his clan was staring at her, as was her grandfather. They were all waiting for her to say or do something that she had no intention of doing. T’kal caught my eye. It was you, he thought. It was you who took her away from me. He glared at me, full of hatred. No, I thought back at him, this is not my doing. But of course, he was not telepathic, and instead of understanding my meaning he was planning how he was going to tell everyone else that his bride-to-be didn’t want him because she had a distraction. Personally, I could see an upside to it. The whole thing was anything but my idea. After watching Nevala drink more than she should have while the families eyed each other suspiciously, the Snow Callers played and the children, and then the lesser members of the household, all quietly slipped away, I tried to help the guest of honor out of her chair and back into the hovercraft. She was unhappy, and the rest of her family was livid. When we were out of hearing distance, they started shouting at her, but she was too drunk to care. They expected her to just marry the big oaf so they could get on with the shellfish farming. Nobody cared that she simply didn’t want to, and as the person who would be having sex regularly with the oaf, it was her right to say no. I was doomed either way and I knew it. 

There was an unpleasant surprise waiting for us. A group of Ferengi were there, latinum in hand, wanting to view the beautiful human female slave. Arrangements had already been made, and all that remained was to pressure Nevala into acceptance. But she again refused, and infuriated all of them. The Ferengi went away disappointed and her family was furious. That night at dinner was the last time I saw Nevala healthy. She awoke the next morning with a stomach ache and her face a strange, ashy color. I suspected poisoning immediately, but they called in a local, country doctor, and told him that she had been sickly since childhood, with a history of digestive disorders. I disagreed. She had been perfectly healthy on the ships and on Romulus, eating and drinking the same as everyone else without any trouble. The doctor then decreed she must have caught an alien virus, and gave her a hypospray. Instead of better, she rapidly got worse. Her stomach ache turned into a nasty case of diarrhea, and she was quarantined in her rooms, with only me to care for her and the Tinlings occasionally coming and going.  
Diarrhea is far more dangerous for Vulcanoids than for humans. Dehydration and death can occur very quickly. Starfleet views diarrhea in Vulcans as a medical emergency, and administers fluids immediately. My guess was that Romulan medics would do the same, but no such assistance came. The stomach pains became agonizing, and she wasn’t able to walk without my holding her up. She was suffering horribly, and needed fluids, which they refused to give her. The Tinlings brought us only a syrupy medicine she was supposed to take three times a day and some weird, sour berries. They asked no questions and answered none. Nor did her family ever enter her quarters, or allow me out. I couldn’t get past the Gurdian guards. They simply picked me up and tossed me back in. Nor were their minds susceptible to influence, they weren’t complicated enough, more like animal brains. It was obvious to me that they were killing her invisibly, out of sight and out of mind, where they didn’t have to listen to her screams, in the most cruel and heartless way I had ever imagined. By the second day, she knew it too, and realized that she was dying of dehydration. If we had been anywhere else, medics could have saved her life easily with intravenous fluids, but instead they locked her in there to die. We used her communicator pin to contact any ships within hailing distance, hoping by chance a warbird or cruiser would be within range and be able to beam her up and into their medical bay. The only ship we were able to contact was an old freighter. They promised to forward our call for help, but we had no way of knowing when or how our message would reach anyone.  
“Save me.”  
“I will keep trying to contact a ship. Something will pass by. Someone will hear us.” I continued to try to send a message, but they discovered the signal and sent in the Tinlings to take it away from us. Eight arms are remarkably effective at removing an object from a two-armed biped, and Nevala was unable to rise out of bed without help, let alone help me fight them off. Once they had taken her communicator pin, it was painfully obvious even to the loyal Nevala that her family had betrayed her. That action removed all doubt from her mind, and she was devastated by the knowledge. “Do you still have my Starfleet communicator pin?”  
“What use is that?” she asked.  
“I might be able to contact an alien ship on a general hailing frequency. It doesn’t matter who they are, Nevala, as long as their ship has a sickbay and they don’t try to eat us.” My reasoning made her moan, but it turned out that she did, kept as a souvenir along with my uniform and several other decorative objects purloined from the ship. I sent a message out on all frequencies asking for help. We were able to contact a deep space science vessel via a relay station, but were quickly caught and the message shut down. I doubted there was much Starfleet could do to help us, but one important thing had occurred. They now knew where I was. The Tinlings quickly relieved me of my communicator as well, but I had hope. Someone, somewhere, would know that I was still alive. I tried to reassure Nevala and comfort her as much as possible. “We could be beamed aboard a ship at any moment,” I told her. “Someone will come for us.”  
She was young, healthy, and strong, so death took several days. Several agonizing, miserable days and nights of holding her while she screamed from the cramping and begged for water. I would have saved her in any way I could have, but there was no way out of those rooms, and we were about eighty feet up in a stone fortress with no way down. The Tinlings would allow me only a few sips of water, and then took it away before I could give Nevala any. That night she began to hallucinate, and screamed strange things while weeping dry tears. None of her family came to visit her, ostensibly because of the “virus,” but really because they didn’t want to be inconvenienced or listen to her begging for her life. On the third day she was too weak to protest any further, and just lay there in my arms, wracked with thirst and excruciating cramping. She occasionally clawed and scraped at me, asking for water, or for her “mother”, who never came. I admit, if she had I might have given in to the temptation to wrap my hands around her throat for letting Nevala suffer and die like that. Then in a final moment of clarity, she looked at me and apologized. She said, “Brenda, I love you.” And then she died. I had known as much, but she had always been too proud to say it. I loved her, too, and I was glad that I had told her so earlier, on several occasions.  
The family knew as soon as she was dead. Of course, they had been watching us. Their cold blooded murder successful, the family prepared to dispose of the body. None of them would touch her, or even exhibited any emotion at all. They avoided her and what they had done, leaving it to me and the Tinlings to take care of her body, which they then planned on cremating immediately to destroy the evidence of poisoning. Just as they had done to her parents. I hated them for what they had done, and they were planning to sell and get rid of me as quickly as possible. The Ferengi arrived again, but left empty-handed when they didn’t get the bargain they wanted. The Ferengi were only willing to pay half of what they had offered before, well aware that I wanted to kill them all in revenge. I was more risk than they were willing to take on, and wisely so. The family was advertising for another buyer when two Tal Shiar officers came knocking at the door, looking for Subcommander Nevala. One of them was Major Rakal, the same attractive, telepathic woman who had processed us through the claims department on Romulus. The other was a half Romulan half Vulcan man who noticed everything and said nothing. They knew I was there from the ads and because they had already arrested the two Ferengi. Then they demanded to speak with Subcommander Nevala and see the Starfleet officer kept in the home. The family told a story of how she had suddenly taken ill with an alien virus and died. They pleaded ignorance on all questions about why they hadn’t attempted to call for help when it was obvious that she wasn’t recovering, and blamed me. They claimed I had concealed the truth from them. They cited family tradition when asked why they hadn’t reported her death to investigators.  
“How long as she been dead?” Major Rakal asked me.  
“Several hours. It happened this morning.”  
“Then there is still time,” she said.  
They were all afraid of the Tal Shiar, and despite the loss of latinum, did not object when the Tal Shiar officers took me with them. They were relieved to not have been arrested themselves. They beamed me up to their ship along with Subcommander Nevala’s body, which was immediately transferred to the medical bay.  
I was truly amazed at what they could do. They used cortical stimulators and transfused every fluid in her body, which then began to show signs of life. They were bringing her back from the dead. In the meantime, they began to question me about the death of Subcommander Nevala. I told them exactly what had happened. The family poisoned her, locked her up and let her die of thirst so they could get their hands on her latinum. They got a similar story from the Ferengi, who were relieved of their latinum, ship, and held in a holding cell. I was to remain in the custody of the Tal Shiar for further questioning.  
I was wondering what was going to happen next when a medic brought me back to sickbay. Nevala was awake, and telling an extraordinary tale. She claimed to have pleaded for her life from a goddess, who took pity on her and sent her spirit back. While I believed her, the doctors thought she was crazy and had suffered some amount of brain damage. They decided to “reprogram” her, the unpleasantness of which I prefer not to recall. I urged her to simply agree with them, her goddess didn’t need their approval and the brainwashing wouldn’t stop until she accepted their explanation of simple post-death neuro-cortical activity. Finally, she did, just to make the horrible psychological manipulations come to an end. However, she was still very weak from having been revived, and they still suspected she was mentally unstable, so it was decided that we would remain aboard the ship until their criminal investigation was complete, at which time she would be transferred to a rehabilitation colony, where we would remain until she was once again fit for duty. 

Chapter 3  
Major Rakal

“Are those people going to be prosecuted for what they did?” I asked Major Rakal. “They murdered her for the latinum. They poisoned her and locked her up to slowly die of dehydration. It was an agonizing death and completely preventable, if they had wanted to. They didn’t want to. They’ve also got two little Vulcan children they plan on abusing in the same way.”  
“Yes, they will be held accountable for the death of Subcommander Nevala, but much depends upon her being able to testify. Her loss is a loss for the Romulan Star Empire,” she said, “And we will discover what happened.”  
She was telling me the truth, but I did not detect any urgency. Something else occurred to me. “Does this sort of thing happen often?”  
“Regrettably, law enforcement is difficult on some of the outlying colonies. This is not the first case of that nature.” She had other questions she wanted to ask, questions of a more personal nature.  
“You were a Starfleet officer,” she said. “Is that true?”  
“Yes. I’m Ensign Brenda Smith. I have been in Starfleet for nearly ten years.” Then I asked, “What is going to happen to me?”  
“You will remain here in the custody of the Tal Shiar until the investigation is complete.”  
“Then what? Is there any chance of me returning to Starfleet?”  
“It is not impossible,” she said, “But there are many things to consider.”  
“Such as?”  
“Discrete channels and prisoner exchanges.”  
“Any thoughts on when that might happen?”  
“Not until we have resolved the matter of what happened to Subcommander Nevala.”  
“Fair enough.”  
The family still insisted that it was my fault, claiming I sought to kill my overly lax and lenient mistress and start an uprising. It would have been a far easier matter if Nevala herself could recall much. Vast swathes of her memory were missing. She knew who I was, but couldn’t recall much of how we met. Most of what she recalled was our sex life, which didn’t surprise me much. I knew what her priorities were. Her mind was also blocking out what she least wanted to relive- death, but it was what they needed from her. She kept asking for her mother and Tee-cho, the set’leth. Nobody wanted Tee-cho, the sullen, peeing set’leth aboard except Nevala, but it was something they could use to motivate her to cooperate with them. Her family on the other hand, was highly uncooperative. They had expected to succeed, and didn’t have any backup plan except blaming me. The lie didn’t hold up under the intense scrutiny of the Tal Shiar’s interrogation procedures and memory retrieval devices. Fortunately, all of this took place out of sight and mind of Nevala, whose mind was still wholly enthralled by the supernatural entity she was certain had taken a special interest in her.  
In the meantime, Major Rakal had questions she wanted to ask me, ones of a personal nature. I had sensed her innate ability, but since it was something she had hidden from everyone else, she had no control over her talent. She queried me about Betazed, the people, our culture, and most of all, how we controlled our telepathy. I sensed that underneath her controlled exterior, she led a life of secret terror. Nor was she able to discern where her mind ended and others’ began. She went through her days acting as if, but inside she was a maelstrom of confusion.  
“I can help you,” I said. “I can teach you to block it out when you wish, and eventually, to control it.”  
“How?”  
“We can try a combination of Vulcan meditation and Betazoid privacy techniques, and see what works best.” I felt sorry for her. She was incredibly lonely, and the bombardment of thoughts and feelings from others was overwhelming and distracting. Instead of telepathic bonding, she was isolated and terrified. 

The grandfather was considered the head of household, so the ultimate responsibility for all those deceitful people was his. In a surprising moment of gallantry, he confessed and took full responsibility, along with his Reman slave, by whom he was discovered to have controlled the others. He did it in order to keep the estate the property of the family. 

The rehabilitation colony was on Gruch’ar, a green, pastoral planet with numerous small lakes, close to Romulus. It was where the Romulans sent their injured soldiers who were going to take a long time to recover- if ever. The planet was dotted with hospitals and prison-looking structures. I did not like the look of those at all. “What are those?” I asked.  
“Don’t worry,” Rakal said, “You’re not going to one of those. The lockdown facilities are only for violent patients. Nevala has been assigned to one of the lakeside camps. I believe you will find the accommodations rustic but satisfactory.”  
“That’s a relief,” I said.  
Indeed, our new home was a small log cabin beside a lake. There were others similiar to it, arranged like a little village. It didn’t look bad at all, and there were two guys out on a boat, fishing in the lake. We looked inside the cabin, the door opening into a simple sitting room with basic furnishings. Behind it were a small bedroom and a bathroom.  
“There is a replicator here as well,” Rakal said, “And emergency communicators. You are both expected to wear the communicator pins whenever you leave the cabin. An uhlan will check in on you daily, a doctor will visit once a week. Do you have any questions?”  
I looked around. Nevala was rummaging through the various drawers and cupboards, looking for anything of interest. “I’m sure we’ll be fine,” I said. “Are we free to wander?”  
“There is no smoking indoors. That is what the porches are for. No swimming or boating until the doctor signs off on it, and when your communicator pins beep, you’ve wandered too far. When that happens, you must return within range immediately, as it contacts the guards and alerts them to a potential emergency or escape. You do not want to lose the privilege of freedom.”  
“We certainly don’t,” I agreed. That was the one thing I didn’t want to lose any more of. She turned to leave, and I added, “Thank you for all your help.”  
“You are welcome. Thank you for helping me.” And so she left us alone in our new home. I joined Nevala in checking out what was in the cupboards. Towels and emergency rations, mostly. I started unpacking, and let Tee-cho out of his box. He gave me a hideously sour look and immediately ran under the bed.  
I was putting our clothes away in a simple wooden closet when there was a knock at the door. Nevala was eyeing it suspiciously when I went and answered it anyway. There was a very tall, elderly Romulan man standing there. He leaned slightly to one side, his arm hanging at an odd angle. When he saw two pretty ladies inside, he smiled. “May I be of assistance?” I asked.  
“Hello. I am Nuvik. I am your neighbor.”  
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said. My impression of Nuvik was that he was a well of history and information. He saw my tattoo, always visible, and was intensely curious. He was also over 250 years old and proud of it. Plus, he wanted to talk. If I ever had an opportunity to talk to Starfleet again, I knew his stories would be priceless. Looking at two pretty ladies, he was hoping to be invited in, but Nevala was eyeing him as a stranger. So I invited him to tea on the porch. He sat down, and I found the replicator. I let Nevala pick the tea, and we joined our new neighbor on the porch.  
His wife had died several years ago and he was definitely lonely, wanting someone to talk to. Nuvik had been a tactical expert for many years, and was a specialist at fighting Klingons. He described his awards and commendations for various exploits and battles he had won over more than a century of service to the Empire. Nevala listened with fascination, recognizing some of the names and battles he mentioned, but quite aware that she should remember a lot more. Most of it was news to me. I recognized a few famous battles that the Klingons will often refer to, but it was fascinating to hear the perspective of the other side. I also got the feeling that we’d be hearing these same stories many times again. For her part, Nevala mostly wanted to talk about the being who had taken pity on her and let her return to the land of the living. Nuvik considered what she said, and decided he needed to go think about it. He often liked to go into the forest alone. But he cautioned us to obey the posted signs on communicator limits, and not to go near the fortress-like prisons. They were patrolled by guards who would shoot first and ask questions later. Then he left.  
A doctor and a young woman knocked on the door later. He was the physician who would be responsible for Nevala’s rehabilitation, and she was the uhlan, the young student-soldier, who was assigned to check on this little village every day to verify the health and whereabouts of each resident. Unlike the guards, neither of them carried a disruptor, although they did have several hyposprays with them that could be used to incapacitate an unruly resident. Their demeanor was calm and relaxed. Of course they were, I realized, they had all the time in the world. I sensed that we wouldn’t have any problems as long as we followed the rules. Indeed, there was a timelessness about the place that let me know that we could be there- forever. Or at least until Nevala died, at which time my fate could become very uncertain and even unpleasant. The only way off Gruch’ar was for her to recover and be reinstated for duty. At which time she would be assigned somewhere, probably a warbird, but not necessarily. The dreaded convoy duty was actually far more of a possibility. Plus, she would be able to take her clone and me with her. But until she had completely recovered and proved it, nobody was going to give her command of a warship. Even she realized that. For my part, I was planning on being there for the foreseeable future.  
We had yet to meet the rest of neighbors. They were for the most part elderly, and I was not the only par’chai. One of the men had a blue-skinned woman with a tail, of the same species we had encountered before. I was looking forward to meeting her, and learning about her species. Two of the men had wives with them, and another had a Reman slave with him. We were aware of each other, but declined to interact. We actually had little to say to one another. He and his master spent most of their time finding ways to spy on the guy with the blue-skinned woman. I could skip out on that. I wanted to have a proper conversation, not overhear their amorous encounters. With such suspicions in mind, I helped Nevala search our cabin for listening or recording devices. Fortunately, the previous occupant of our cabin had been old and solitary, so we found nothing but the ports one would use to spy on others. Nevala didn’t want any of our neighbors coming in, for fear someone might plant such a device. I was fine with that idea, since they definitely did such things.

She’s a sweet girl, really, but if she stays on her present career path, she’ll become one of them. Romulans are very passionate, something I came to appreciate during the time I spent with her. When she opened up and gave herself to me, there was no holding back. She bonded with me, and in return, because I am Betazoid and subject to the emotional flux, I bonded with her. I will always love her.


End file.
